


The Secret Life of a Live-In Tutor (Or, Who/What Jim Kirk Did on His Summer Vacation)

by Savoytruffle



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Het, Drama, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-06
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savoytruffle/pseuds/Savoytruffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern day AU. Jim is working on his Masters of Education and living in a crappy studio apartment. His friend Gaila works as an au pair for the wealthy McCoy family and lives in their fabulous home. The McCoys want to hire a tutor for their daughter Joanna for the summer and Gaila thinks Jim would be the perfect fit. She has no idea...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [a prompt](http://buckleup-meme.livejournal.com/5309.html?thread=41661#t41661) at the [Kirk/McCoy kink meme](http://buckleup_meme.livejournal.com/5309.html). Thanks to [](http://cordelianne.livejournal.com/profile)[**cordelianne**](http://cordelianne.livejournal.com/) and [](http://mijan.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mijan.livejournal.com/)**mijan** for their helpful comments and lovely encouragement.  
> 

Jim looks down at the Word doc in front of him and thinks that if he has to force himself to type just one more sentence he’s going to pick up his poor, battered MacBook and hurl it into the wall.

He takes this as a sign that he’s done working for the night.

Taking a slow, deep breath, he carefully hits save and closes his laptop with a somewhat unsatisfying, but prudently gentle thump. No matter that he’s got three papers due by the end of next week and he’s only halfway through one of them, he needs to blow off steam in the worst way.

He could hit the bars, but that’d cost money and require him to be charming. He picks up his phone and sends a text instead.

_Grad school overload. Save me, plz!_

Forty-five minutes later, he hears the honking down at street level. He slips his wallet into his pocket, grabs his keys, locks the door to the overpriced shithole his landlord calls a studio apartment and hurries down the stairs.

He doesn’t bother with the door to the tiny convertible double-parked in front of his building (a shiny new MINI Cooper, and in British fucking Racing Green, no less), just vaults his way into the passenger seat and plants a grateful kiss on its driver’s lips.

“Gaila,” Jim announces, “you are my hero.”

Gaila laughs. “You are full of it, Jimmy Kirk. And don’t think I don’t love it. Where to?”

Taking in the bounce of her red curls and that sexy Irish lilt – not to mention a hell of a rack – Jim’s feeling better already. “Anywhere but here,” he says. “If I have to have one more intelligent thought tonight, I swear I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

“I’ve got just the thing.” Gaila smiles, throws the car into first and hits the gas. “Mrs. McCoy took Joey to see her grandparents in Hartford for the weekend and Doctor McCoy won’t be home until after midnight.”

“You mean I finally get to see The Great McCoy Mansion?”

“I’m thinking a shag in the hot tub could be just the cure for what ails you.”

Jim feels a grin spreading across his face. “Gaila, is it possible that you are the most perfect woman ever?”

Gaila laughs again. “Flattery, Mr. Kirk, will get you everywhere.”

Jim settles back into his soft leather seat, savoring the feeling of the wind through his hair. “God, I hope so.”

Jim wonders if there’s anything in the world sexier than a red-headed Irishwoman driving a manual transmission. One of his high school girlfriends used to drive an old VW Beetle. He cranes his neck to examine the car’s interior and wonders if sex in a MINI Cooper would be more or less difficult. He decides they should try it out sometime. In the name of scientific experimentation.

“I still can’t believe they gave you this car,” Jim says, turning his focus to their surroundings as they enter the wealthy suburb of Wellesley, Massachusetts. His eyes widen. He sure as hell ain’t in Iowa anymore.

“Well it’s not like I get to take it back to Dublin with me. They’re just letting me borrow it for a bit.”

“They _bought_ it for you,” Jim says. “Brand new.”

“That’s how these people work, Jim. It wouldn’t have occurred to them to do anything else.”

Jim thinks about the old Ford pickup he used to drive back at Iowa State. How he’d make the three-hour trek from Ames to Riverside and back, scratchy radio playing full blast as he prayed every five minutes or so for a God he no longer believed in to keep his transmission _inside_ the car.

“Still,” he says, “you’d think a nice pre-owned Focus would do the…” Jim trails off as Gaila turns into a long brick-paved driveway and pulls up in front of the biggest house Jim’s ever been this close to in person. He boggles for a moment. “Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?” he asks at last.

Gaila snorts. “Wait until you see the inside.”

 

 

“Oh, hey,” Gaila calls over her shoulder, wandering further into the house – no, _mansion_ – while Jim stands slack-jawed in the center of the entry hall, “you have to try this foie gras sushi Hikaru made today. It’s amazing.”

Jim hears words – and the click of Gaila’s heels on the hardwood floors – but she’s already standing in front of him before he stops gawking long enough to process them.

He frowns. “Wait a minute – did you say _foie gras_? Isn’t that—?” Jim is prevented from finishing his question by the rice and goose liver that’s just been popped into his mouth. He chews, reluctantly, fully intending to be disgusted…until the flavors burst over his tongue. “Holy shit, this is _awesome_.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Gaila says, looking smug. “Hikaru is a _genius_.” She hoists the rest of the sushi tray up next to her shoulder, waitress-style, and tilts her head toward the back of the house. “Come on, let’s take these outside and get naked.”

At the words ‘get naked,’ Jim’s brain and feet snap right back into action.

Most. Perfect. Woman. Ever.

He manages to follow her for a good forty or fifty feet before his eyes – previously focused on the amazing things Gaila’s jeans are doing for her ass, or possibly the other way around – flicker past the liquor cabinet and get stuck.

“No way.” Jim stops in his tracks. “What year is that?” He moves in closer, peering at the bottle’s label through the glass. “Holy fuck, Gaila. This is a 1948 Macallan Royal Marriage. This is a _twenty-five hundred dollar bottle of Scotch._ ” Jim’s eyes drift to the bottle next to it and nearly pop out of his head. “Which is _nothing_ compared to this Black Bowmore. _Jesus_.” Jim continues to scan the shelf. “Oh my god, this Springbank is actually _open_. Do you think they’d notice if I just…?”

“Jim…” Gaila gives him a look.

“Aw, come on…” Jim flashes her his most convincing pout, holding his fingers up about half an inch apart. “Just this much. No one has to know.”

“Doctor McCoy would certainly know,” Gaila says with utter conviction.

Jim continues to hover near the bar, trying to look as irresistible as possible. She retaliates with an impressively stern nanny-face, but can only hold it for half a minute before her face softens back into its easy smile. “Try the stuff in the decanter,” she suggests at last. “He drinks that every day and doesn’t mind if I nip some in my off hours.”

Jim hastens to pull the stopper from the weighty crystal decanter and pours himself a generous two fingers before she can change her mind. He pauses, then, watching the way the light shines through the whisky, determined to savor the moment.

“Jim…”

“Hold on,” he says absently as he slowly lifts the matching tumbler to his nose to take a whiff. “I just want to...”

Spotting a flash of moving color in his peripheral vision, Jim’s free hand snaps up automatically, his fingers closing around a piece of fabric.

A piece of fabric he quickly realizes is Gaila’s shirt.

He looks up just in time to catch sight of a long, smooth expanse of pale, freckled skin bisected by a strip of green lace before it slips out between French doors.

He also catches sight of her fingers as they reach back and unhook that strip of green lace, then slide the lacy green bra off her shoulders.

“Christ, Kirk,” Jim mutters to himself. “ _Focus_.”

He hurries out onto the patio after her, knocking back his first swallow of the whisky on the way. He catches up to her at the hot tub, then stops in his tracks as the surprisingly smooth and rich flavor bursts over his tongue.

“Holy shit,” Jim whispers. “ _This_ is the everyday stuff?”

Gaila – who has somehow managed to divest herself of both the sushi tray and all remaining clothing, Jim’s brains notes as a sort of aside – rolls her eyes and neatly plucks the tumbler from Jim’s hand before he can locate two wits to rub together. She takes the glass with her as she steps into the hot tub and moves to sit at its far side.

“No fair,” Jim mutters as he strips out of his own clothing – though what _exactly_ about following a naked Irishwoman into a hot tub to get a glass of whisky _isn’t_ fair is a bit difficult to pin down.

As he slips into the softly bubbling, perfectly heated water, Jim’s whole body seems to release a sigh of relief. He slowly crosses the tub, watching Gaila lift the tumbler to her lips and take a small sip before setting it off to the side.

Jim smiles and takes his second taste of the phenomenal mystery whisky from Gaila’s lips.

 

 

“Fuck,” Jim sighs, in between sips of his second glass of ‘everyday’ whisky, “I am _seriously_ considering dropping out of grad school to become your kept man.”

With the way Gaila’s body is pressed against him from behind – his back resting against her soft, full breasts and her legs wrapped around his hips with her hooked ankles resting in his lap – Jim can feel as well as hear her soft chuckle.

She flicks her ankle, splashing water against his chest. “And what makes you think I’d keep you, Jimmy Kirk?”

“I’m very pretty,” Jim says. “And I have a great dick.”

“Mmm…” Gaila says, running thoughtful fingers down the side of Jim’s arm.

“I’m clever and hopelessly charming?” Jim suggests.

He feels Gaila shrug behind him.

“And…” Jim sets down the whisky, wraps both hands around one of Gaila’s feet, and starts to knead, “I give _awesome_ foot massages.”

“Well,” Gaila says, after a few moments of Jim’s magic fingers, “I’m not sure how the McCoys would feel about me bringing home a permanent houseguest, but they have been thinking about getting Joey a tutor.”

Jim pauses in his massaging. “Wait – are you serious?”

“They’re hoping to find someone to start next month, after she gets out of school for the summer.”

Jim pulls a face. “What kind of crazy, overbearing helicopter parents make their kid stay in school all summer? She’s what? Seven? Has it ever occurred to them to let her – I don’t know – _play_?”

“It’s not like that,” Gaila says, wiggling her foot to bring Jim’s attention back to the massage.

“So they’re not crazy and overbearing?”

“Okay, so it’s a little like that,” Gaila admits. “But the tutoring thing was my idea. Joey’s really bright, you know, but she gets bored in school and she doesn’t really talk to the other kids. But when it’s just the two of us, I can’t get her to shut up. I thought maybe if she could get excited about learning here in a safe environment, she might open up more at school next year.”

“That actually does make sense,” Jim concedes.

“Dr. McCoy thought so, too,” Gaila says. Jim can hear the proud smile in her voice. “You’d be perfect for it, Jim. I don’t know why I didn’t think of you before. Mrs. McCoy’s been asking around and taking applications, but she has yet to find anyone she considers up to her exacting standards.”

Jim snorts. “We’re half an hour from _Boston_. You can’t walk five feet without stumbling onto the campus of an elite education institution.”

Gaila shrugs. “She’s picky.”

“And what makes you think _I’d_ pass muster? Starving M.Ed. students are a dime a dozen.”

Gaila takes a moment to answer. “Let’s just say you have other…relevant qualifications.”

It takes Jim a second, then his eyes widen. “No…really?”

“I’ll make sure you get the face-to-face interview. Trust me, she’ll hire you on the spot.”

“Seriously? I mean, who does that?”

“She’s the lady of the house,” Gaila says. “She likes to…decorate.”

An image flashes through Jim’s head. He’s leaning over a school desk, tutoring a little girl in math while having his ass ogled by half a dozen members of a suburban book club. And, shit, is he wearing a Chippendale’s costume? And baby oil?

Jim quickly blinks the image away. “Oh god,” he says, giving an exaggerated shudder, “I feel kind of dirty.”

Gaila laughs. “C’mon,” she says. “You love it.”

Jim considers this for a moment, picturing it without the faux-leather chaps and replacing the book club with a lone MILF, smiling at him from the doorway. In a bikini.

“How old is Mrs. McCoy again?” he asks.

Gaila splashes him in the face.

 

 

Gaila decides to slip into the pool and swim a couple of laps to cool down. They’ve forgotten towels, so Jim ends up patting himself half dry with his tee shirt and leaving it slung over the back of a patio chair while he pulls his jeans up over damp legs and pads his way into the house in bare feet, carrying his empty crystal tumbler.

He heads to the kitchen first to snag a couple more pieces of sushi from a tray in the mammoth stainless steel fridge. He pops one piece into his mouth and takes another with him in his free hand as he pads back over to the liquor cabinet. He sets the tumbler down, swallows the first piece of sushi and shoves the second one into his mouth before picking up the decanter to refill his glass.

He’s still chewing and gazing longingly at the Springbank when he hears the sound of the front door opening. His head whips around, heart jumping in his chest like his Uncle Frank’s just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

When a man walks in jeans and a tee shirt, carrying a bag of fertilizer over his shoulder and a rake in his hand, Jim breathes a sigh of relief.

He finishes chewing, washes the sushi down with a sip of whisky and gives the guy a nod. “Hey, man,” he says.

The guy frowns at him, taking in Jim’s bare chest and feet. “Do you work here?”

“Not yet,” Jim says, taking another drink, “but I’m seriously considering it.” He lifts his glass in the man’s direction. “I mean, have you tried this stuff?”

“Once or twice,” the guy says.

“This is my fourth glass,” Jim admits without shame, feeling nice and toasty. “I didn’t even know they _made_ scotch this awesome.”

“It’s bourbon, actually.”

“No way,” Jim says.

“Way,” the man says dryly. “Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve.”

Jim laughs. “You made that up,” he accuses. “But seriously, this can’t be bourbon. In my experience, bourbon is some cheap shit.”

Something about the raised eyebrow Jim gets in response indicates more clearly than words ever possibly could _just how little_ this man thinks of Jim’s experience.

“No offense,” Jim adds hastily.

The man takes a brief moment to roll his eyes before narrowing them at Jim. “Who are you again?”

“Oh, sorry,” Jim says, extending his hand. “Jim Kirk.”

For a second, Jim thinks the guy is just going to stand there staring, but he finally shifts the rake to his left hand and offers his right. The palm is warm and dry, its grip firm and sure. Jim holds onto it just a bit longer than strictly necessary, waiting for the guy to offer his own name, but it doesn’t seem forthcoming.

Their eyes meet and hold and for a moment everything shifts, sending a pulse of awareness up Jim’s arm and down in the general direction of his dick.

Jim blinks and suddenly realizes the man’s fingers are twitching in his grip.

Jim lets go.

The man steps back immediately, readjusting the fertilizer on his shoulder. Jim takes the opportunity to study the guy a little more closely, watching the way the tee shirt shifts and stretches across the guy’s broad, hard chest.

Jim lets out a low whistle, followed by a short laugh. “Man,” he says, “Gaila wasn’t kidding about the hiring policy around here.”

“Excuse me?” the guy says.

“She told me that Mrs. McCoy likes to hire eye candy.” Jim takes another drink of the bourbon and grins. “I mean, it seems a little…I don’t know…but I have to admit, the woman has taste.”

Looking up, Jim notices the sudden appearance of a bulging vein in the guy’s forehead and takes an instinctive step back, holding up his hands.

“Hey, man, chillax. It’s the twenty-first century. Just because a guy admires another guy’s physique doesn’t mean it has to mean anything.” Jim smirks. “You know, unless you want it—”

“Oh, um, hey, Doctor McCoy. You’re home early.”

Jim’s head snaps around to the French doors leading to the patio, where Gaila is now standing, red curls still dripping. He’s not sure he’s ever seen her blush before.

Then her words sink in, and Jim’s pretty sure he’s blushing, too.

“Miss Gaila,” Doctor McCoy says, with a nod. He tilts his head in Jim’s direction. “I assume this one belongs to you?”

“Not as such, sir,” Gaila says. “But I’ll get him out of your way.” She casts her glance to the fertilizer and rake. “What’re you…?”

Doctor McCoy shakes his head. “That damn fool gardener Joce hired left these lying around out front. Do you know what kind of chemicals they put in this shit? And who the hell leaves a rake just lying around near a pathway? It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.”

In spite of his embarrassment, Jim stifles the urge to laugh at the old-fashioned rant. Who _actually_ says that anymore?

“Of course,” McCoy continues, glancing over at Jim, “seems she didn’t hire him for his _landscaping_ skills.”

The urge to laugh quickly dissipates. “Um…sir…I…”

Jim is usually much faster on his feet than this. And since when does he fucking _stammer_?

“Save your breath, kid,” McCoy suggests. “Ain’t no amount of talking gonna to dislodge your foot at this point. So why don’t you go find your shirt, and your shoes if you brought some, and let Miss Gaila drive you on home before you make it any worse.”

Jim swallows, nods, and does as instructed.

So much for his sweet new employment opportunity.


	2. Chapter 2

“Look,” Gaila says, “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad…”

“Not that bad?” Jim repeats. “Gaila, I was hitting on your _boss_.”

“He’s young and attractive and a very well paid surgeon. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

“I mistook him for the _gardener_.”

“Which is probably a little less common,” Gaila admits, “but it was a natural mistake.”

“I insulted his whisky. And his _wife_. Fuck, if this was a country song, I’d have shot his dog, too, and he’d already be driving my lifeless body out to the quarry in the back of his flatbed truck.”

“C’mon, just send in your CV,” Gaila urges as she pulls up outside Jim’s apartment. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, hello,” Jim says. “Lifeless body? Flatbed truck?”

Gaila chuckles. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

“Whatever you say,” Jim says, getting out of the convertible. He shuts the passenger door and leans on its edge. “Thanks, though. I really needed that study break.”

Gaila grins and whips out her iPhone. “Smile!” she says, snapping off a picture. 

Jim steps back, frowning. “Gaila,” he begins, “hold on a second. Whatever you’re planning, I don’t think—”

But he’s drowned out by the rev of the engine as she speeds off.

 

The thing about Gaila is that she’s a woman of many talents.

Many _very sexy_ talents.

One of which happens to be computer hacking.

Which is why Jim really shouldn’t be surprised when, a few days after he’s turned in his final paper, he gets a reply to an email he never sent. Seems he’s being invited to the McCoy home for an interview. He scrolls down and finds that ‘he’ not only sent a copy of his CV but a photo as well. 

_That new iPhone has really great photo resolution,_ Jim thinks. 

Also, _Dammit, Gaila_.

But he accepts the interview time, and then forwards the email to Gaila, telling her the least she can do is pick him up.

 

Jim isn’t sure what exactly to expect when Gaila leads him into the McCoy mansion for the second time. His eyes dart anxiously from side to side, but there’s no sign of Dr. McGrumpy. 

Jim is relieved about this, by the way, and not at all disappointed.

They walk down a short hallway and Gaila waves him through the open door of an elegantly appointed study, giving him a wink for luck. The woman sitting behind the polished mahogany desk is as well put together as the study and, it must be noted (at least in Jim’s head), pretty damn hot for a mom. 

“Mr. Kirk, come on in,” she says, standing up and reaching across the desk to offer Jim her hand. 

Jim meets her handshake and can’t help but notice that her body is every bit as impressive as the rest of the contents (and residents) of the household. She sits back down and gestures for him to do the same.

Not that he was expecting (or preparing) for her to drag him across the desk and have her wicked way with him, but as soon as Jocelyn McCoy opens her mouth, Jim discovers she’s more Kirsten Cohen than Julie Cooper. She’s clearly combed through his resume, contacted his references, and even possibly read that article he got published in an online journal for undergrads back at Iowa State. Within minutes, Jim’s forgotten all about trying to flash a charming smile or a well toned bicep and is just trying to keep up with her questions. 

Fortunately, Jim’s good on his feet.

“I really don’t subscribe to any single pedagogical philosophy,” he tells her, quickly warming to the topic. “There are a lot of really valuable approaches out there and a lot of good empirical evidence for their success. The key is to figure out which strategy or strategies are best for a particular student or class, go forward, and then remain flexible in case you need to change things up further down the road. I mean, education’s a journey, right? And I really don’t believe we’re even all supposed to arrive at the same destination, let alone take the same path.”

Mrs. McCoy raises a skeptical eyebrow and Jim wonders if she picked that up from her husband or the other way around. “So you just ‘wing it’?” she asks.

Jim quickly shakes his head. “Not at all.” (Okay, so maybe a little, sometimes, but the best winging is the kind that comes off as what you were planning all along and the only way to achieve that effect is not to spoil the illusion.) “I used to tinker with cars when I was a kid.” (Tinker, drive off the cliff. To-may-to, To-mah-to.) “You don’t always know what’s wrong when you start off or what tools you’re going to need, so you bring the whole box, you know? You start with what you think will work, but if it doesn’t, you try something else. It’s a systematic approach, just not a dogmatic one.”

Mrs. McCoy nods slowly, frowning slightly like she’s trying to parse out Jim’s genius-to-bullshit ratio. Jim wishes her luck with that. 

He rarely knows himself.

Sensing he’s about to lose her, Jim leans toward the desk. “Okay, it’s true,” he says, “sometimes I…improvise. But I get results.” He lowers his voice. “I’m pretty sure the Graduate Placement Office would _not_ want me to share this story, but…”

By the time Jim finishes the tale of his first internship as a first grade classroom aide, they’re both laughing out loud.

“But I promise you,” Jim concludes, “after that, they both made leaps and bounds with their reading.”

“I believe you, but an _entire_ jar of paste?” she asks, a bit breathless. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Not even a little,” Jim swears, still chuckling. “When it comes to kids, truth is pretty much always stranger than fiction.”

Jocelyn McCoy smiles at him, then, before glancing down at her watch for at least the fourth time in the forty-five minutes they’ve been talking. When she looks up, she’s frowning.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says. “That was kind of an involved story. If you have someone else to see…”

“No, that’s not it,” she says quickly, “I’d like to see you to talk to Joanna before we finish.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just…Len was supposed to be here an hour ago.” She sighs and shrugs. “But what can I expect, right? In the end, I’m just the mistress.”

Jim blinks. “Excuse me?” Gaila _so_ didn’t mention that. 

Mrs. McCoy lifts a hand to wave away Jim’s confusion. “ _Doctor_ McCoy is, as they say, married to his job,” she clarifies, cracking a wry but brittle smile. “Sometimes it seems like I have to throw a charity benefit for the hospital just to get a date with him.”

“Uh…” Jim says.

“I mean, I get it. He saves lives, and of course that’s terribly important. But this is his _daughter_ we’re talking about – and she’s important, too.”

“Look,” Jim says, slowly, “I’m sure he, uh…really wanted to be here…”

Mrs. McCoy looks down and then up again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. And don’t get me wrong, he’s a good man. And a _great_ father. Joanna adores him.” She shakes her head as if to clear it. “And you should meet her.” She hits an intercom button on her desk. “Gaila, would you please bring Joanna down here to meet Mr. Kirk?”

The two arrive in the office a couple minutes later. 

“Joey,” Gaila says gently, “this is my friend Mr. Kirk. Your mum and dad were thinking maybe he could come stay here this summer and be your tutor.”

Joanna sneaks a wary peek in Jim’s direction, before looking back up at Gaila. “What’s a tutor?” she asks.

“It’s someone who learns stuff with you,” Jim answers, before anyone else can. He’s turned his chair toward Joanna and is leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t stand, though. He wants to let Joanna come to him when she’s ready.

She turns to face him, but keeps her distance for the moment and doesn’t really lift her head. “Is that like more school?”

“Man,” Jim says, “I hope not.” He studies at Joanna for a long moment, as if to gauge her trustworthiness. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asks at last.

Joanna nods slowly, but Jim doesn’t say anything right away. He casts deliberately suspicious glances toward the edges of the room where Gaila and Mrs. McCoy are standing back. Following his gaze, Joanna finally moves a few steps closer.

“I don’t really like school,” Jim confesses in a stage whisper. 

Joanna looks skeptical. “How come you’re a tutor, then? I thought tutors were supposed to be smart.”

“And _I_ thought you didn’t know what a tutor was,” Jim counters.

Joanna shrugs. “Well, kinda.”

Jim smiles. “You’re sneaky.” 

Joanna’s cheeks turn red as she looks down at her feet.

“Don’t worry,” Jim tells. “I like it. And anyway, that was a good question. See, the thing is, just because I don’t like school doesn’t mean I don’t think learning can be awesome. In fact, I think learning should _always_ be awesome. That’s why I want to be a teacher when I grow up.”

Joanna’s eyes narrow into a pint-sized, but impressive glare. “You didn’t say you were a teacher.”

“I’m not yet. I have to finish some school of my own first.”

“But you said you don’t like school.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not important for me to go.”

Joanna seems to consider this for a moment. “Teachers suck,” she announces suddenly.

“Joanna Elizabeth McCoy…” Mrs. McCoy scolds, stepping forward.

“It’s okay,” Jim says, holding up a hand to keep her from interrupting. He nods at Joanna. “Teachers have it kinda tough. They’ve got a lot of kids to keep track of and sometimes it seems like they don’t really remember everybody or even have enough time to help everyone learn. I don’t think they want it to be that way, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. Is that how it is in your class?”

Joanna nods and looks at the ground again. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Now see,” Jim says, “that’s the great thing about having your own tutor. It’s like if you had a really cool teacher all to yourself. One who doesn’t repeat stuff when you already know it and who doesn’t move on before you’re done thinking about something. You get to ask all the questions you want and go on lots of field trips. How does that sound?”

Joanna takes a second to think it over and give Jim one last appraising eye. Finally, she nods. “I guess that sounds okay.”

“Okay, then, Jo-Jo,” says a much deeper voice, “why don’t you run back upstairs with Miss Gaila so Mom and Dad can talk to Mr. Kirk.”

Jim looks up to find Dr. McCoy standing in the office doorway. In his effort not to meet McCoy’s gaze, finds his eyes drawn to the steady, solid surgeon’s hand that ruffles Joanna’s hair as she scrambles past, Gaila in tow.

He blinks.

Mrs. McCoy steps forward. “Mr. Kirk…” she begins.

“Jim,” Jim insists.

“And I think you should call me Jocelyn,” Jocelyn says. “Jim, this is my husband, Leonard.”

Jim half expects McCoy to inform Jocelyn that they’ve met.

Right before he throws Jim out on his ass.

But McCoy simply extends his hand, so Jim plays along and shakes it.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. McCoy.”

(McCoy does _not_ , Jim notes, insist that Jim call him Leonard. Which is fine, since Leonard’s kind of a lame name, anyway.)

Jim drops McCoy’s hand and steps back, looking between husband and wife. Damn, they’re an attractive couple and suddenly Jim’s really starting to wonder just what exactly he might be getting himself into. Still, it doesn’t stop him from flashing them both a charming (but sincere) smile and saying, “You two’ve got a great daughter.” 

“Smart as a whip,” McCoy agrees, and the glow that comes over the man’s face with the words nearly steals Jim’s breath.

Or maybe it’s the sudden, irrational longing to be the source of that glow.

Fuck if Jim knows.

“She just needs to come out of her shell a little,” Jocelyn says, snapping Jim out of his little moment. “I just wish she’d let the world see the same bright and clever little girl she shows us, you know?”

What Jim _knows_ is that he should thank them both for their time, walk out of this house and never look back.

“Well, she’s probably never going to be a natural extrovert,” he says instead, “but I think with some work, we can improve her self-confidence and widen her comfort zone.” He smiles. “Oh, and we can throw some math in there, too.”

Jocelyn laughs politely. 

McCoy does not. 

Jim watches the couple exchange a look, then Jocelyn is walking over to the desk, picking up a blue folder, and handing it to Jim. “I expect you’ll find these terms to be…competitive.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘exorbitant,’ dear,” McCoy mutters.

Jim opens the folder, takes one glance at the summary page tucked in the front and has to agree.

_Holy shit._

“It’s her _education_ , Len,” Jocelyn hisses, while Jim works at keeping his eyes from popping out of his head. He no longer feels ungentlemanly for those couple of times Gaila insisted on picking up the tab. “What do you think, Jim?”

Jim glance shifts from Jocelyn to McCoy and back again. “It’s…um…very generous.”

“No,” Jocelyn says, “I mean, will you take the job?”

Jim hesitates.

“You’ll have plenty of time for your own studies,” Jocelyn says. “After all, we don’t want to steal Jo’s entire summer vacation from her. Room and board are included, of course. Mr. Sulu is an absolute marvel in the kitchen. And we’ll get you a vehicle so you can head into the city when you want and for those field trips that you’ve promised. We have a pool out back, and a hot tub—”

“For heaven’s sake, Joce,” McCoy interrupts, “give the kid some time to think it over. Maybe he wants to sleep on—”

Jim snaps the folder shut. “I’ll take it,” he says.

Because if he looked any longer he’d know better than to leap.

 

McCoy wanders away while Jocelyn makes arrangements for their driver to pick Jim up in three days time, along with whatever he might actually want from his apartment. Jim’s not worried – whatever pathetic furniture and household goods he leaves behind will only make the place more attractive as a summer sublet.

When they finish, Jim wanders out of the study in search of Gaila. He finds McCoy instead, glass of bourbon in hand.

“Look, man,” Jim says, “I really am sorry about the other day. I was an asshole. Thanks for not holding it against me.”

McCoy raises an eyebrow. “Who says I’m not?”

Jim can’t tell if he’s kidding. He plays it off with a cocky smirk. “Once you get to know me, I’m hard not to like.”

McCoy snorts. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Jim does his best to look wounded.

McCoy is unimpressed. “Don’t pout, kid. Joce’s right, Jo needs help. You’re good with her. If you can do what you say, I don’t really care what kind of asshole you are in your free time.”

_Okay, then._

“Hey, Jimmy,” Gaila calls from somewhere near the main entrance, “you ready?”

“Coming,” Jim calls back before addressing McCoy again. “Well, anyway, thanks for giving me a chance.”

He means it.

McCoy shrugs and takes a long drink of his bourbon.

Figuring they’re done, Jim gives McCoy a nod and starts to walk away.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” McCoy says quietly, just before Jim’s out of earshot. “One wrong move and you’ll be out on your ass faster than Andre.”

Jim turns to look over his shoulder. “Who’s Andre?” he asks.

“The gardener,” McCoy says.


	3. Chapter 3

As far as valued possessions go, Jim’s boil down to pretty much one thing.

Books.

Boxes and boxes of books, as it turns out, and those are just the ones he can foresee himself needing over the summer.

Two large, and rather shiny, cherry wood bookshelves are the first thing Jim notices when he walks into his new room and he wonders who thought to put them there. It certainly hadn’t occurred to Jim to ask for them in advance. He spends about twenty minutes putting away his clothes and about five times that shelving and organizing, carefully lining up each spine.

He wonders if Jocelyn would be impressed with his collection.

He wonders if Doctor McCoy would be.

He wonders what they’ve got to eat in this place because suddenly he’s starving.

He wanders down into the kitchen, saying a little prayer for more of the amazing sushi, but stops short at the door, instantly mesmerized.

The sight before him is sheer beauty – and he’s not just talking about the really hot Asian guy standing at the kitchen island, moving his body to whatever beat is coming out of his iPod. No, it’s the whole package. It’s the light sheen of sweat on the guy’s forehead; it’s razor focus of those dark eyes; it’s the flex of his biceps and the fluidity of his movements as he slices, dices and chops a dazzling array of brightly colored vegetables; it’s the dazzling array of sweet and savory baked goods cooling on the counters around him.

The man hasn’t looked up yet to see Jim’s arrival. Without thinking, Jim reaches out toward the counter to his left, angling for a blueberry muffin…

“One more inch and you lose that hand.”

Jim’s eyes snap back toward the island, landing on a very sharp looking knife and then slowly traveling up a very tense looking arm to meet at a set of very calm looking eyes, which are now trained on Jim’s hand in a very scary looking way.

Jim is well out of chopping range, but probably totally within throwing distance.

He really wouldn’t put it past this guy.

Jim pulls his arm back in and holds up both hands where the guy can see them. “I come in peace,” he says.

The guy studies Jim for a long moment and then sets down the knife, reaching up to pull out his ear buds. “You must be the tutor.”

Jim nods and steps forward, reaching across the island to offer his hand. “Jim Kirk,” he says. “And you must be—” Jim stops himself right there. He is _so_ through making assumptions. With his luck, this is the long lost McCoy cousin who just happens to be Asian. And in culinary school.

“Hikaru Sulu, personal chef.”

Jim breathes a sigh of relief.

“Welcome aboard,” Hikaru says. “Hungry?”

“Famished. But I happen to be extremely fond of my right hand.”

Hikaru laughs. “What about your left?”

Jim smirks, finding a stool and perching himself upon it. “They say variety is the spice of life.”

Hikaru pulls a heavy skillet from an overhead rack and sets it on the gas range. He turns to the refrigerator, opens it and pulls out some eggs. “Allergies?”

“Tree nuts, shellfish and mango.”

Hikaru nods and starts cracking eggs. Within minutes Jim is presented with a plateful of steaming, fluffy omelet and a fork. Jim takes his first bite lets out a fairly embarrassing moan of ecstasy.

Good thing Jim has no shame.

He takes another bite and moans again.

“I think I love you,” Jim confesses, his mouth still half full.

Hikaru, gone back to his chopping, just shrugs. “Occupational hazard.”

 

 

 

The next day Jim and Gaila take Joanna to the zoo.

Jim has some assessments he wants to give her to help him plan their summer curriculum, but he doubts jumping directly into testing will win him her heart _or_ her mind. And with Gaila there to act as a buffer, Jim figures she’ll warm to him a whole lot quicker.

Plus, the weather happens to be fantastic.

Not to mention, the zoo happens to be an _awesome_ place for learning.

And, okay, if it just so happens that Jim’s brand new Volkswagen GTI got delivered this morning and this is Jim’s first chance to take it out for a spin, it’s not like that’s _why_ he planned the trip or anything.

Well, not _only_.

But, man, the car handles like a dream.

And all three of them have a blast.

 

 

That night, Hikaru cooks a “simple” dinner outside on the grill. He serves the family first, at a table in an covered outdoor seating area on the other side of the pool. Once they’re taken care of, he loads up the grill again, while Jim and Gaila hover in a locust-like fashion.

It’s just hamburgers and roasted vegetables, but there must be some sort of secret ingredient because once he takes the first bite, Jim’s pretty sure he’s ruined for all other hamburgers for the rest of his natural life.

And that it’s totally worth it.

He leans against the side of the house, plate in hand, and looks across the pool. Joanna is practically bouncing out of her chair recounting all the day’s events, with special focus on her father, who’s hearing them for the first time. McCoy looks a little rough around the edges, like he’s had a long day, but it’s clear that he’s listening and whenever Joanna bothers to pause for breath, Jim can see that he asks questions.

Occasionally, Jocelyn interjects, perhaps editing or supplementing Joanna’s story, but she looks to be talking more _through_ Joanna than _to_ her husband.

McCoy does the same in return.

Of course, life with a kid can be like that. Jim knows this from visiting his brother Sam last Christmas. And he knows that Sam and Aurelian _do_ talk.

They just wait until after the kids go to bed.

Jim realizes he’s staring and turns away.

“Did I see new Netflix today?” Hikaru is asking Gaila. “What’d we get?”

“ _Sherlock Holmes_ , _Zombieland_ and _Avatar_.”

“Mmm,” Hikaru says. “ _Sherlock Holmes_. Is it wrong that I think Robert Downey, Jr. is kinda hot these days? He’s like, what? Fifty?”

“Forty-five,” Jim says around a mouthful of hamburger. “And holy rehab, Batman, _totally_ hot.”

“Well, I happen to think blue skin is hot,” Gaila says. “And the effects in _Avatar_ are amazing.”

“ _Sherlock Holmes_ has effects,” Hikaru counters.

Gaila snorts. “No comparison.”

Hikaru pulls a face. “I don’t know. I’m just not sure I’m up for the whole neo-colonialist narrative tonight.”

“Oh, but as long as the movie’s about the colonists on their home turf, that’s just grand?”

(For the record, the words _neocolonialist narrative_ just rolling off Hikaru’s tongue? Also totally hot. And Gaila with her hands on her hips like that? Yeah, that’s hot, too.)

Jim swallows the hamburger and smiles at both of them. “ _Zombieland_ it is, then.”

He thinks he could get used to this.

 

 

 

Jim lets out a happy sigh as the credits start to roll.

As of exactly eighty-eight minutes ago – eighty-eight glorious minutes of beer drinking and zombie thrashing – Jim has decided that the McCoy’s home theater is his new favorite place on earth. And apparently the staff are more or less the only ones who use it.

Which is crazy, but awesome.

Also crazy-awesome are the retractable screen and honest-to-god projector. Not to mention the deep, deep armchair whose buttery soft leather Jim’s ass has recently declared its BFF.

“More,” Jim demands.

A brief, but lethargic debate ensues, in which _Avatar_ loses on account of being “really fucking long.” Gaila sticks out her tongue at Hikaru, but caves.

“Aw, yeah, bring on the RDJ!” Jim blames his spontaneous fist-pump on the several empty beer bottles sitting in front of him.

“RDJ?” Gaila repeats. “Really?”

“What?” Jim asks. “People say that.”

“What people?”

Jim looks to Hikaru for support.

Hikaru shrugs. “Sorry, man, you’re on your own.”

Gaila glances over at their depleted stash of snack and drink. “On your own and making the beer run,” she announces.

Jim groans at the thought. (He thinks his ass would groan, too, if it could.) “Why me?”

“Because serving food is my day job and I’m off the clock,” Hikaru says, as he changes out the DVDs.

Jim nods his concession and turns to look at Gaila.

“Because I’m way too comfortable to move,” she says, stretching back further into her leather loveseat. “And because you’re the newest.”

“So?”

“So, American movies have taught me that as the newest member of our social group, it is both our right and our duty to haze you.”

Hikaru nods. “She’s got you there.”

Jim pouts at Gaila – his ass would definitely pout, too, if it could – and makes one last ditch effort: “But I don’t even know where the beer _is_.”

Gaila snorts. “What happened to, ‘JTK has perfect beer-dar’?”

 _Shit_ , he’s sure he must have been drunk at the time, but Jim actually does remember saying that.

Also, he _does_ know where the beer is.

He heaves a sigh and hoists his ass up out of its little leather slice of heaven. “I’ll be right back,” he tells the chair. He turns to the screen, where the DVD menu is now up and gives it a nod. “Don’t you worry, RDJ. JTK is on his way. And he’s bringing beer.”

 

 

 

The upstairs is quiet as Jim makes his out of the media room. Joanna’s bedtime is nine o’clock and it’s already past ten.

He takes the back stairs. On his way down the hall, Jim sees a light on in a room he’s never been in before. The door is ajar and the deep, rumbling strains of Johnny Cash wind their way out into the hall. Jim slows as he passes, first making out dark wood bookshelves lining the walls.

A second study, he thinks. Probably McCoy’s.

Another step and he can make out the shelves’ contents. Old anatomy texts, rows of medical journals.

Definitely McCoy’s, then.

Another step, a deep red rug, the edge of a heavy desk, a tumbler of amber liquid – bourbon, not scotch.

Another step, a hand, a pen, a stack of files.

Another step, an arm, a shoulder, the corner of a leather chair back.

McCoy’s face.

He looks tired, Jim thinks.

Another step and McCoy must catch Jim’s movement out of the corner of his eye. Their glances meet and hold for half a second.

Jim turns his head and keeps walking.

Crossing the foyer, Jim can see out the large glass doors to the lit pool. Jocelyn is swimming, slicing through the water with smooth, efficient strokes. The table by one of the loungers holds half a glass of wine.

Jim walks through the kitchen, grabs a six-pack from the pantry fridge and heads back into the foyer to take the main stairs. He glances out the glass doors once more.

Jocelyn reaches the end of the pool, executes a neat flip and starts back to the other side.

 

 

 

“Hold on, I think my battery’s low.”

“Ah,” Gaila pauses the game and turns to look at Jim’s controller, which is indeed flashing. “So you don’t just suck, then?”

Jim laughs. “Hey, now, grad school is time consuming. And expensive. We can’t all spend hours a day playing Modern Warfare in a state-of-the-art media room.”

Except that Jim _can_ do that now.

So much for all that thesis research he was planning to get done this summer.

“Aw,” Gaila teases, “it must be hard getting your ass handed to you by a girl.”

Jim snorts. “Oh, please,” he says, “as a thoroughly modern metrosexual, I invite you to do whatever you want to my ass, when and wherever you choose.” Not that Gaila’s ever missed a double entendre, but Jim throws in a leer for good measure.

No one ever accused Jim Kirk of being subtle.

“Extra batteries are in the closet,” Gaila says.

With a sigh, Jim and his slightly bruised ego make their way across the space.

Of course, fooling around with a fellow staff member in his employers’ media room wouldn’t exactly be professional behavior, but Jim’s still imagining how great his _bare_ ass would feel on one of those leather loveseats when he opens the closet door, glances down at the floor and sees…

“Holy shit, is this a DDR dance pad? Oh my god, I used to love this game in high school.” Jim forgets all about his controller as he starts to drag the metal pad out of the closet. “Oh, shit, there’s another one in here! And they even have the handlebars. This is _amazing_. We totally have to play right now.”

Gaila rolls her eyes. “Sorry, Jim, that’s Hikaru’s thing.”

“He plays?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Jim’s face lights up and then falls. He sighs and pushes the pad back into the closet. On the one hand, this sucks because it’s Hikaru’s night off and Jim isn’t exactly known for his patience. On the other hand…

“Just wait until this weekend,” Jim declares, the smile creeping back over his face. “It is going to be so epic. We’re taking it back to 2003. I was awesome at this, back in the day. I may be a little rusty, but I still I bet I can totally kick his ass.”

 

 

 

When Jim meets his crushing defeat at the hands (and feet) of Hikaru three days later, there is at least one bright spot.

Gaila did not actually take him up on that bet.

Jim gives up long before the final round is over, collapsing next to Gaila on the leather loveseat and just watching Hikaru go.

“He’s like some crazy Asian stereotype,” Jim says, breathless with both awe and exhaustion. “Are you sure there aren’t videos of him up on Youtube?”

Hikaru manages to shoot Jim a quasi-offended look over his shoulder without missing a beat. The whole thing defies several laws of nature.

“Okay, so that was kind of awesome,” Jim admits, when Hikaru finally finishes, “but how are you on a _real_ dance floor?”

 

 

 

Turns out Hikaru is fucking hot on a real dance floor.

But so is Jim.

And Gaila? Well, she doesn’t even have to move her body to draw the men like flies.

They make it to Boston around eleven and start off in a straight club, where they make a beeline to the bar. Gaila, the first to grab the bartender’s attention, orders nine Baby Guinesses. The tray arrives and they each pick up their first shot.

Jim’s and Hikaru’s eyes meet and hold.

Gaila counts them down. “Three, two, one…go!”

They each toss it back and pick up the next, eyes still locked.

“Three, two, one…go!”

Their eyes meet again. Damn, but Jim loves a fellow competitor.

“Three, two, one…go!”

The final two shot glasses land on the bar with a solid and simultaneous _thunk_.

Jim and Hikaru look at each other one last time.

Game on.

It’s Saturday night and the club is just starting to fill up, heading towards packed. The DJ is in a groove and the music never stops. Jim sticks close enough to Hikaru to know what he’s up against, and the energy Hikaru practically radiates fuels his own fire. Jim dips his partner down, admiring the slow, smooth arch of her back, and when she comes up, he laughs against her ear and can’t remember the last time he had this much fun on the town.

After forty-five minutes or so with a variety of very willing – and a few exceptionally able – partners, Jim and Hikaru share a look across the floor. They break away from their respective companions and meet back up at Gaila, who was officially designated Arbiter of Dance on the drive in.

“Well?”

They wait impatiently as she slowly looks from one to the other, considering. Finally, she shrugs. “Too close to call.”

Jim and Hikaru glare at her for a second, then exchange another look in which they agree to the only thing to be done at that point. They each reach out and snag one of Gaila’s hands and drag her out into the middle of the dance floor.

Where they go about constructing a very delicious Gaila sandwich.

 

 

Gaila heads out sometime around two a.m. since she’s got Joanna in the morning. Jim and Hikaru agree to find their own way back, walk her to the car, and then proceed to the nearest gay club.

They hit the bar for another couple of shots and then hit the dance floor.

Competition over, their bodies silently agree to a shift in tactics.

They start off dancing together and quickly progress to dancing… _together_.

It’s like Jim’s mom used to say: Why make war when you could be making—?

Okay, Jim’s mom never said that.

But she did tell him to play nice.

 

 

“Oh, yeah, that’s nice. Fuck, Kirk.”

The words mix and mingle with other words, the words of others, the words and curses and grunts and groans that fill the club’s back room, which is more of a hallway really, and a crowded one at that.

But, hey, at least it’s not the McCoy’s media room.

And Hikaru’s certainly not complaining.

Neither is Jim, even though the truth is he’ll probably have to burn these jeans later.

Of course, it’s hard to complain with your mouth this full, and with strong hands holding your head in place, tilting it to just the right angle. It’s hard to do much of anything besides this thing that they’re doing, and Jim relaxes into the grip, relaxes his throat, and relaxes his mind.

Hums a little tune.

“Oh, shit.”

Hikaru’s fingers flex and tighten, pulling Jim off, rather than in, and Jim takes the cue, surging up off his knees and replacing his mouth with a tight fist around Hikaru’s cock, pumping him quickly to completion.

Hikaru takes a second after he comes, but just a second, and then he’s flipping Jim around, pressing Jim back into the wall with his tight, warm body, and yeah, so Jim’s gonna have to burn his tee shirt, too. Hikaru kisses Jim, then, rough and heavy with the urgency of the atmosphere, working his hand down into Jim’s jeans.

Jim forgets about his shirt and kisses back as good as he’s getting.

He waits until Hikaru’s worked Jim’s cock out from his pants, has one dexterous hand wrapped around it, before turning the tables. Hikaru’s back thumps against the wall and Jim bites at Hikaru’s bottom lip before sliding his hands up to Hikaru’s shoulders and pushing down.

After the most token of resistances, Hikaru drops to his knees.

Jim’s got the wall now to brace his palms against and it’s a good thing because Hikaru’s gone from zero to sixty in about three seconds and, yeah, Jim should have known Hikaru would want to best him again, even – no especially – in this.

Still, unless Hikaru’s mad skillz include the ability to suck his own dick, there’ll be no one to compare them based on technique. Which means it’s all down to speed, who can make who come the fastest, and Jim thinks he could probably come _omgrightnow_ , but there is no way he’s going down without a fight.

Hikaru does his worst.

Jim holds out as best he can.

The results are fan-fucking-tastic.

“Dude, you came on my _shirt_.”

Well, for Jim, at least.

Of course, he totally forgot to look at his watch.

“So, who won?” Jim asks as they stumble out of the club together, hanging all over each other because, at this point, four legs are totally better than two.

“Lost count,” Hikaru says with a shrug. “Guess we’ll have to call it a tie.”

Jim calls it _win-win_.

 

 

 

By the time they make it back to the McCoy mansion, it’s nearly six a.m. and the motherfucking sun is already up.

“My eyes, my eyes!”

While Jim is busy being melodramatic, Hikaru has the good sense to enter the alarm code. Safely inside the house and away from the sun’s glare, Jim offers his most admiring and approving nod.

It only makes his skull pound a little.

They make their way into the kitchen. Jim goes straight for a class of water, while Hikaru disappears into the pantry, returning in a crisp white chef’s coat.

“I always keep a spare close at hand,” Hikaru says as he moves to the sink to wash his hands. He proceeds to look pointedly at Jim until it occurs to Jim to do the same, then opens the fridge and starts to pull together the ingredients for a perfect hangover breakfast.

Jim takes a seat at the counter with another glass of water, hydrating as he watches Hikaru work.

And possibly zoning out a little, because when the steaming plate of bacon, eggs, and hash browns is placed in front of him, it’s like a sudden, perfect miracle.

Much more alert now, Jim wastes no time digging in.

He makes it halfway through the plate without pausing for breath. “Damn, man, you give good morning after.”

Jim finally looks up to say this, which is when he notices that Hikaru’s back on the other side of the kitchen still chopping and mixing – doing prep work, Jim realizes, for the day’s upcoming meals. Jim may have Sunday off, but Hikaru doesn’t.

He hasn’t even bothered to fix himself a plate.

Jim picks up what remains of his breakfast and carries the plate over to Hikaru. “You should eat some of this.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, seriously,” Jim says, “come on.” He loads up a fork and puts it up to Hikaru’s mouth. “Here.”

“Aw,” Hikaru croons, “how romantic.”

“Fuck you,” Jim says, laughing. “Eat.”

Hikaru takes the bite. He chews, swallows, and then bats his eyelashes at Jim. “Thanks, snookums. You’re so—”

Jims shoves another bite into Hikaru’s mouth to shut him up, takes a bite for himself, then loads the fork again. “Just one more, babycakes, you know you want it…”

Hikaru starts to open his mouth. “I—Oh, hey, Doctor McCoy.” Hikaru straightens his shoulders and takes a step back, looking past Jim. “Can I, uh, get you anything?”

Jim lowers the fork back to his plate and slowly turns to take in the sight of McCoy standing in the doorway in a tee shirt and a pair of running shorts. The man has great calves.

“Hey,” Jim says.

The way McCoy’s eyes sweep over Jim’s form before walking past him to the fridge remind Jim of exactly how trashed he probably looks right now. A glance down at his own sweaty tee shirt and dirty-kneed jeans confirms his fears.

“No, thanks, Hikaru, I’m just going to for a run.” McCoy pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge and twists off its cap. “I’ll have breakfast with everyone else.”

Jim tries to avoid staring as McCoy tilts his head back and downs the bottle in a couple long swallows. When McCoy’s head drops back down and his eyes meet Jim’s, Jim realizes he’s failed.

“So,” McCoy says, glancing from Jim to Hikaru – who’s gone back to his prep work – and back to Jim again, “is there anyone in my house you _haven’t_ slept with?”

Based on the way McCoy just turns and heads for the door without waiting for an answer, the question is probably rhetorical.

But apparently Jim’s mouth didn’t get that memo.

“No one with the last name McCoy!” it calls after McCoy’s retreating back.

McCoy doesn’t bother to turn or even pause.

Jim could swear he hears Hikaru mutter, “Yet.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jim doesn’t see much of McCoy the following week. The doctor is apparently on call, which, according to Gaila, means whatever sleep he’s getting, he’s getting on some cot in the hospital somewhere.

For his part, Jim gets an email at the beginning of the week from his advisor ‘reminding’ him that he owes her the bibliography for his thesis and ‘gently suggesting’ that he get her a draft of the literature review and methodology by mid-July so he’ll have time to revise and present to the rest of his committee before the fall semester.

Which, you know, is basically fair expectation-wise. And it’s not like Jim hasn’t _started_ his bibliography or anything; it’s just that most of the work he’s done on it exists not so much on his computer as in his head.

He sets himself a hard deadline of the next Monday, which seems like a great idea right up until Sunday night when the perfectionism kicks in and putting on the finishing touches turns into a near all-nighter.

Somewhere around four a.m. he sets his alarm and passes out face-first in his bed.

His alarm goes off at six.

He drags himself back out of bed, opens his laptop, pulls up the document, realizes anything he could possibly do to the document in his current state could only make it worse, attaches it to an email, and hits send.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he drags himself into the bathroom, throws himself under the shower spray, and stays there until he only feels _half_ -dead.

Having dressed, Jim wanders downstairs in his semi-zombie state. Hikaru is in the kitchen.

“Brains,” Jim moans.

“Fresh out of brains,” Hikaru says. “Will a latte do?”

“You are a god among men,” Jim mutters as he climbs onto a stool at the counter.

Hikaru delivers the mug two minutes later. He even puts a little heart in the foam. Jim would laugh, but he’s trying to conserve energy.

“So,” Hikaru asks, “did you get it finished?”

“And sent,” Jim confirms. “Only thing I forgot to do is sleep. Got Jo all day today.”

“Well, don’t worry, you totally can’t tell.”

“Really?” Jim feels a spark of hope.

“No, I’m lying,” Hikaru says as he pulls a pan out of one of the ovens. “You look like shit. Frittata?”

Jim sighs, folds his arms on the counter, and lets his head fall into them. “Just kill me now,” he murmurs against his own skin.

Naturally, this is when McCoy – a man Jim has seen neither hide nor hair of in a week – chooses to make his reappearance.

It’d be classically comic timing…if it wasn’t Jim’s life.

“Coffee, Doctor McCoy?” Hikaru asks.

“Please,” McCoy says.

Jim lifts his head and takes another sip of his latte.

“Late night?” McCoy asks.

The implication of the question is clear and Jim _could_ actually explain, but fuck it.

He smirks and shrugs instead. “You know how it goes.”

Because what Jim does in his off time is none of McCoy’s damn business anyway and Jim is _so_ not in the mood.

Hikaru opens his mouth like he’s about to say something in Jim’s defense, but Jim warns him off with a glare. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Hikaru says instead.

McCoy nods and disappears into the dining room.

Jim eats some frittata, finishes his latte, and prepares himself to face the day.

 

 

 

By the time Joanna meets Jim in her playroom after breakfast, Jim has himself basically pulled together. He stands behind her at her pint-sized computer desk as they finalize their plans.

“After the butterflies,” she says, “we’ll have lunch. Can I get French fries? And then we’ll see body stuff, like my dad does. And then the dinosaurs!”

“Saving the best for last, huh? I’ll have to ask your mom about the French fries,” Jim says, “but otherwise it sounds like a plan. So now, how—?”

“Daddy!” Joanna jumps up from the desk and runs over to the doorway, where McCoy is suddenly standing. “How come you’re not at work?”

“I worked a lot last week, Jo-bug, so they’re giving me a couple days off this week. I thought maybe I could spend today hanging out with you and Jim.” McCoy glances up and across the room, meeting Jim’s gaze and suddenly ‘standing’ looks a lot more like _looming_. “I didn’t realize you were just going to be playing on your computer all day.”

“ _Da-ad_ ,” Joanna says, dragging the word into two long syllables, “Monday is field-trip day.”

“We’re going to the Museum of Science,” Jim explains, stepping out from behind Joanna’s desk. “Hey, Jo, why don’t you check the website and see how much it’d cost for your dad to come with us.”

Joanna hurries back to the desk to look for the answer. Jim steps closer to McCoy and speaks in a low, if dry, tone.

“So these new-fangled things we have, these _com-pu-ters_? Kind of a big deal these days. Ubiquitous, you might say. Omnipresent. Not likely to disappear anytime soon. So kids getting comfortable with them and learning how to use them efficiently and effectively? Kind of a major life skill.”

McCoy glares at Jim, but offers a grudging nod. “Point taken.”

“I don’t need checking up on,” Jim says, softly but firmly, “but if you’re coming along, how about you dig up some of those Southern manners I know you must have in there somewhere and try _not_ to completely undermine my authority with your daughter?”

“Adults are twenty-one dollars,” Joanna announces. “Plus five dollars for the butterflies. Do you have enough, Daddy?”

Jim looks from Joanna back to McCoy and raises an eyebrow.

McCoy nods. “I think I can manage.”

 

 

 

Turns out, it’s not _Jim’s_ authority they needed to worry about.

 

 

“Do you know what butterflies are before they turn into butterflies?” McCoy asks his daughter.

“Duh.” Joanna rolls her eyes. “Caterpillars.”

“Don’t say ‘duh,’ Jo-Jo, it’s not polite. Do you know what they’re like before they turn into caterpillars?”

Joanna thinks about this for a second. “No,” she says. “What?”

“They’re in eggs. Sticky eggs that are attached to leaves. Different kinds of butterflies leave their eggs on different kinds of plants. Some butterflies even lay their eggs before the winter and then the caterpillars don’t hatch until the spring.”

“That’s a long time.” Joanna looks suspicious of this story. “Are you sure?”

McCoy points to a nearby placard. “I just read it right there.”

Joanna looks to Jim. “Is that true, Jim?”

“Yep,” Jim says.

Joanna smiles. At Jim. “Cool!”

 

 

 

“Daddy, can I get some French fries?”

“I don’t know, Jo-bug, how about some fruit instead?”

“But Jim said I could get French fries!”

Jim immediately lifts up his hands in the universal gesture for _nuh-uh_. “Not true, kiddo. I told you I would _ask your mom_ if you could get French fries. But now that your dad’s here with us, it’s his call.”

Thwarted, Joanna turns back to her father. “ _Please_.”

“That’s an awful lot of fries for one little girl,” McCoy hedges. Jim watches him looking between the plate of deep fried starch and his daughter, no doubt weighing the prospect of an impending cafeteria-line tantrum against that of a distant angioplasty.

“Maybe we could all get one plate to share,” Jim suggests. “And some fruit, too.”

Joanna looks up at her dad again and he nods this time, shooting Jim an almost grateful look as he picks up the plate and puts it on his tray.

It’s a nice change from the usual glare. Jim thinks he could get used to it.

 

 

 

After lunch, they make their way to the Human Body Connection exhibit, where McCoy doesn’t even have to look at the placards to offer all kinds of information.

And where Joanna continues to look to Jim for confirmation of each fact, much to McCoy increasingly visible chagrin.

It’s not so unusual with kids. They get excited about a new teacher or role model and temporarily conclude that their parents know nothing. It just means Jo likes Jim; it doesn’t mean she doesn’t love her daddy.

But that doesn’t mean Jim can’t bask for a bit.

“Look, Jo, you can touch a real sheep’s heart and lungs.”

“Can I, Jim?”

“Yep,” Jim says.

Jim thinks McCoy might strangle him right now, if it wouldn’t get McCoy arrested.

Jim would laugh out loud, if he wasn’t afraid it might actually get him punched in the face.

“C’mon,” Jim says, once Joanna’s done _oohing_ and _eewing_ and _ahing_ , “let’s go down and see the X-ray exhibit.”

“Kay!”

“Hold your dad’s hand. We don’t want him to get lost.”

Joanna does and McCoy offers Jim a small smile. Jim could definitely get used to that.

 

 

“How many bones do you think there are in the human body?” Jim asks as they stand together looking at a model skeleton.

McCoy has, for the moment, opted to keep his mouth shut.

“Um…fifty!” Joanna guesses.

Jim laughs. “Close. Over 206.”

“Really?”

“Yep. And do you know what kind of people like to take lots of X-rays to see what’s going on with your bones?”

“Um…doctors?”

“Yep, doctors. Like your dad. Do you think your dad could name all 206 bones?”

Joanna considers this for a moment. “Maybe,” she says at last. “He might forget some, though.”

Jim catches McCoy’s offended look out of the corner of his eye and resists the urge to chuckle.

“What about me?” Jim asks. “Do you think I can name them all?”

“Maybe.” Joanna, though not fully certain, seems slightly more confident in this prospect.

“Okay,” Jim says, “I have an idea. How about your dad and I have a contest to see who can name the most bones? And if I win, your dad buys you and me ice cream on the way home. And if your dad wins, I buy you and your dad ice cream.”

Given that she gets ice cream either way, it comes as no surprise to anyone that Joanna is in favor of this plan.

“This is the clavicle,” Jim says, touching Joanna’s shoulder.

He nods to McCoy, who touches the back of Joanna’s shoulder on her other side. “This is the scapula.”

“Humerus,” Jim continues.

“Radius,” McCoy says.

“Ulna.”

Using Joanna as a model, Jim and McCoy take turns naming the larger bones of the body. Jim takes care to avoid pointing at anything that could be considered naughty touching. Joanna giggles as they point and poke at each of her ribs.

“Skull,” Jim says, finally, rapping his knuckles lightly against Joanna’s head and making her giggle again. He heaves a dramatic sigh. “And, I don’t know, I think that’s it for me.”

“Actually,” McCoy says, “there are eight bones that make up the cranium.” And he proceeds to name each and every one.

Along with the fourteen bones of the face.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Jim complains as McCoy rattles off the fifty-four bones of the hand.

And by the time McCoy makes it through the fifty-two bones of the feet, Joanna is well and truly awestruck.

McCoy, for his part, is beaming.

“Wow, Daddy, how do you know all that?”

McCoy reaches down and ruffles her hair. “That’s what they taught us in medical school, Jo-bug.”

“Guess I owe you both ice cream,” Jim says, not bothering the hide the smile on his own face. “Let’s go see the dinosaurs.”

 

 

 

“Don’t worry, Jim,” McCoy says when they reach the cash register, ice cream cones in hand. “I’ve got this.”

“Forget it.” Jim bats McCoy’s hand away. “This is my treat. A bet’s a bet.”

McCoy studies Jim’s face like he’s got a hunch, but can’t quite confirm it. “Not when one person throws the game…”

Jim shrugs and doesn’t bother to deny it. “You probably would’ve won anyway.”

Jim turns and pays the woman, then looks back at McCoy, whose brow is now furrowed in a way Jim finds unaccountably sexy.

McCoy shakes his head. “You knew all 206, didn’t you?”

“Well, I did _once_ ,” Jim admits, pausing to take a lick at his cone. “But that was like two years ago. I’m sure I’ve forgotten one or two since then.”

 

 

 

They walk up to the house with Joanna between them, but the instant they step through the door, she’s off.

“I’m gonna go find Mom and tell her all the cool stuff we did!”

Left standing alone together in the foyer, Jim and McCoy turn to face each other. An awkward moment of silence ensues. McCoy finally breaks it.

“I, uh, had a great time,” he says.

Jim nods. “Me, too. Maybe we should do it again sometime.” Why does Jim suddenly feel like he’s standing on some girl’s porch waiting for ‘the signal’? “I mean, Joanna obviously liked having you there,” he adds, after a second too long.

“Yeah,” McCoy says, “I really…”

Gaila chooses that moment to pop out from the kitchen.

Thank god.

“Hey, Jim,” she says with an unnatural brightness, “did you get your bibliography turned in this morning?”

Jim watches Gaila’s gaze flit between him and McCoy and barely manages not to roll his eyes. Hikaru so obviously put her up to this.

Still, Jim finds he actually wouldn’t mind setting the record straight.

“Yeah, I did,” he tells Gaila, watching McCoy out of the corner of his eye. “I stayed up most of the night finishing it, but it’s done.”

McCoy wanders off to pour himself a pre-dinner glass of bourbon, but not before Jim catches a satisfying glimpse of chagrin on his face.

 

 

 

After dinner, Jim grabs his laptop and headphones and heads down to the kitchen. He has a desk in his bedroom, but he really needs to get this done and he’s pretty sure he couldn’t sit within sight of any bed right now – let alone his own – without collapsing face-first into it.

Plus, Hikaru always leaves awesome snacks lying around.

Jim is munching on some kick-ass wasabi almonds a couple hours later when McCoy appears in his line of sight. At first Jim figures he’s just on his way to the fridge and keeps his eyes on the screen, but when he realizes McCoy is hovering, Jim takes out his earphones and looks up.

“Am I interrupting?” McCoy asks, looking more at the counter than at Jim.

“It’s okay,” Jim says. “I’m just working on this week’s lesson plans.” He catches McCoy’s frown. “And before you start, I’m just doing them now because that’s the point of the Monday field trips: I like to put Jo in a fun learning environment and see what she responds to so I can base the rest of the week’s lessons on the concepts she’s most interested in.”

McCoy comes around the counter to stand over Jim’s shoulder and look at the laptop screen. “That’s actually really smart,” he says.

Jim snorts. “Try not to sound too surprised.”

McCoy is quiet for a couple minutes as he looks over Jim’s notes, reaching around Jim to scroll down the page.

“She really liked the electricity exhibit, too,” he says at last.

“You’re right. I forgot about that.” Jim scrolls through the lesson plans, finds a good place, and makes a note. He thinks for a few seconds, then types out a flurry of additional thoughts and questions. A minute later, he looks back up at McCoy, who’s moved off a bit to Jim’s side. “Thanks.”

McCoy swallows. “Look, Jim, I—”

Jim waves off the coming apology. “Don’t worry about it. We’re good.”

But the tension in McCoy’s face doesn’t ease. “When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong.”

Jim’s memory for random dialogue is way too good. He struggles to keep a straight face. “Are you saying you know I’m not the one who got Penny in trouble?”

McCoy just blinks at him for a second, and then, to Jim’s utter shock and delight, he actually gets the reference. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” he says with the utmost earnestness.

Jim busts out laughing.

And, miracle of miracles, McCoy laughs along with him.

“See,” Jim says, “I told you you’d like me once you got to know me.”

“Well, let’s not go too far,” McCoy says, turning to leave the kitchen.

“Whatever you say, Bones.”

McCoy turns back and the look in his eyes threatens bodily harm should that nickname ever pass Jim’s lips again.

Jim just smiles back at him. In Jim’s experience, ‘too far’ is exactly when things start to get fun.


	5. Chapter 5

This week, Jim’s new favorite feature of the McCoy mansion is the pool. In the early afternoons, when he finishes working with Joanna, he likes to throw on his swim trunks and head down to swim a few laps. It clears his head and helps him change gears before putting in time on his thesis.

Preferably poolside.

If Hikaru’s in a generous mood, there are even snacks.

If someone hadn’t already coined the expression, ‘This is the life,’ Jim definitely would.

This particular afternoon, Jim is alone when he gets into the pool, but not when he gets out.

He nods to Jocelyn and her friends and grabs a towel off the lounger to wrap around his hips. When he looks back up, Jocelyn is waving him over.

“Jim, come and meet the girls.”

Jim puts a smirk on his face and a swagger in his step as he makes his way over to the outdoor dining area. He knows this game and has never minded playing it. He can feel the drops of water falling from his hair and sliding down his chest, but even if he couldn’t, he’d know they were there by the way that none of Jocelyn’s friends are even pretending to look him in the eye.

“Afternoon, ladies.”

“Girls, this is Jim Kirk. Jim, this is our little book club.”

Jim glances over at the table, where he notes an abundance of cocktails and a suspicious lack of anything even resembling a book.

“Pleased to meet you,” he says. “What are we reading this month?”

The women laugh as if he’s just told the funniest joke.

“So this is the tutor you’ve been telling us so much about,” one woman says, shaking Jim’s hand for as long as possible before another woman steps up to displace her.

“Shame on you for keeping him to yourself for so long,” the new one chides.

Jocelyn just shakes her head. “A girl has to keep a few secrets around here. Had to get him all settled in before one of you all tried to steal him right out from under me.” She pauses for a moment to let her word choice sink in, then smiles slowly. “He’s just so good…with Joanna.”

“I’ll just bet he is,” says the woman currently in possession of Jim’s hand. She looks Jim up and down before finally meeting his eyes. “Whatever they’re paying you, honey, I’ll double it. Having someone like you around would really do wonders…for my Trey.”

Jim takes that as his cue to exit, stage left. “Well, ladies,” he smiles at the woman and carefully extracts his hand from her grip, “much as I love a good literary discussion, I’m afraid my schoolbooks are calling.”

He gives a little wave, throws in a wink and escapes into the house.

After pulling on some clothes, he takes his computer and books and sets up shop in the kitchen, where Hikaru’s just about to head out for his daily market run.

“Oh, Jim,” Hirkaru simpers, tilting his head and batting his eyelashes, “you’re so smart without your shirt on.”

“Bite me,” Jim says.

 

 

 

Jocelyn, Jim is beginning to realize, belongs to a whole host of societies, clubs, and committees – an inordinate number of which seem to hold afternoon meetings at her house.

Jim would consider revising his swimming schedule, but he really hates to disappoint.

 

 

 

Later that week, Jim has his second of what are supposed to be bi-monthly meetings with Leonard and Jocelyn McCoy about their daughter’s progress. During this meeting, three things occur to Jim.

First, Jim’s actually been in the household for over five weeks.

Second, for all that their everyday lifestyle continues to blow Jim’s mind on an everyday basis, at bottom, both the McCoys are caring and conscientious parents.

And, third, these meetings are the only times, aside from meals, that Jim has ever seen Leonard and Jocelyn together.

 

 

 

 

Not that Jim’s seeing much of McCoy on his own either.

Not that Jim misses him or anything.

 

 

 

It’s a Thursday morning. Hikaru has just served the family breakfast and is cleaning up. Jim is sitting at the counter, sipping on his latte and contemplating the day’s lesson when McCoy bursts in from the dining room muttering to himself as he shoves his cell phone into his pocket.

“…calling a man in before he’s even finished his morning coffee like I ain’t got anything better to do than clean up after a bunch of overgrown teenagers who probably never even learned how to shave right but think they’re God’s gift to the scalpel.”

McCoy, face flushed and hair mussed from where he’s just run a harried hand through it, fumbles for his keys and hospital badge, which live on at set of hooks on the kitchen wall. They weren’t tangled before he started, but somehow manage to get that way during the retrieval process.

“Of all the goddamn idiotic, unbelievably moronic…”

Meanwhile, Hikaru has pulled out a travel mug, filled it with fresh coffee and sealed the lid on tight. By the time McCoy sorts out the keys and badge and looks up, the mug is already being placed in his outstretched hand.

To his credit, McCoy pauses in his rant long enough to mumble, “Thanks.” But only that long. “I don’t know _what_ exactly they’ve been teaching in these Yankee medical schools,” he growls, “but I’ve got half a mind to march down there on my lunch break and let them know exactly what I—”

The rest of that thought is cut off by the slamming of the front door.

Jim stares after McCoy for a moment, then turns to look back at Hikaru. “Is it just me or was that kinda hot?”

“It isn’t just you.”

Jim nods. “Wanna make out in the pantry?”

Hikaru pulls out his iPod to check the time. “I’ve got a few minutes,” he says.

 

 

 

Mostly, though, Jim’s taken to leaving the house when he wants to get laid. Bars, clubs, that sort of thing. Not that there was anything wrong with what he was doing before, it’s just occurring to Jim lately that maybe he’d like to make a better impression.

Not on anyone in particular or anything.

Just, you know, in general.

Professionalism and all that.

And there’s still plenty of fun to be had in-house.

Like playing in Lapse of Luxury – Jim, Hikaru and Gaila’s newly formed rock band, of the tiny plastic instrument variety.

It’s the evening, that same Thursday, and they’re in the media room playing their way through Rock Band 3, with Gaila on tiny plastic drums, Hikaru on tiny plastic guitar, and Jim on vocals, trying to stay out of the red and wishing to god that this stupid song would just end already…

“Sorry, guys,” McCoy begins as he ducks into the room, “I was just looking for—” He freezes in his tracks, staring at Jim. “Good god, man, what the hell are you doing to ‘Free Bird’?”

Later, Jim won’t be sure what came over him, why he didn’t just shoot McCoy a friendly glare and keep singing – or trying to sing – until the man was gone. Was it pity? Curiosity? Pure bratty reflex?

Whatever the reason, Jim finds himself thrusting the microphone into McCoy’s hands. “Go on, then, Bones – show me how it’s done.”

And then, for reasons even less fathomable, McCoy actually does.

And does very, very well.

Of course, it’s no real surprise that McCoy can kick ass in the southern rock genre.

It’s when he keeps hold of the mic and transitions smoothly in a panty-melting version of ‘Just Like Heaven’ that Jim’s mind is truly blown.

Not to mention Jim’s metaphorical panties.

He’s still gaping a bit when McCoy hands back the microphone. “The Cure?” Jim asks.

McCoy simply raises an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Yeah, and?’

Jim smirks. “Just didn’t know you had it in you, old man.”

McCoy smirks right back. “I’m not as old as all that. And there’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jim asks, “like what?”

“Like I happen to play a mean bass.”

Jim doesn’t know if McCoy is talking tiny, plastic bass or the genuine article. Either way, it’s a surprisingly tantalizing thought, but before Jim can demand to see proof, McCoy has turned and left the room.

Jim stares after him a moment, then turns back to Hikaru and Gaila, who are very much staring at Jim now.

“What?” Jim says.

“Bones?” Hikaru asks.

Jim shrugs. “It’s just a nickname.”

Gaila shakes her head. “Be careful, Jimmy.”

Jim ignores her and picks up the controller to restart the game. “Come on, let’s play.”

Whatever Gaila thinks she sees, it’s nothing.

 

 

It’s still nothing the following week when McCoy starts on an evening rotation that has him waking up and taking his coffee and breakfast at exactly the same time that Jim’s become accustomed to working at the kitchen counter, which still happens to coincide with Hikaru’s shopping trips.

In other words, they’re both in the kitchen.

Alone.

Together.

Jim watches out of the corner of his eye as McCoy pours his coffee and pulls out the plate Hikaru left for him. He expects McCoy to head off to the dining room where Jim’s pretty sure Hikaru set a place and left the newspaper.

Jim looks up when McCoy lingers instead.

“Another lesson plan?” McCoy asks, tilting his head toward Jim’s laptop.

“My thesis, actually.”

McCoy takes a sip from his coffee. “What’s it on?” he asks, which is, of course, the polite thing to do at this juncture.

Jim watches as McCoy picks up an apple slice and places it between his lips, biting it gently in half. McCoy chews and Jim swallows before giving his simplified, one-sentence summary of the project. It’s the polite response, the one that doesn’t assume genuine interest. The one that tends to satisfy everyone who isn’t Jim’s advisor. Or his mother.

McCoy surprises Jim by nodding slowly as he thinks the description over, then surprises Jim further by starting to ask questions.

Good questions.

Questions that get Jim thinking.

“Well,” McCoy says finally, downing the last of his coffee in one long swallow, “I guess I’d better get to hospital.”

“Thanks,” Jim says, genuinely grateful for how clear the project suddenly is in his head. He’s drawing all kinds of new connections to some work he read last week and his fingers are itching to get back to the keyboard.

And if Jim initially found it difficult to put together coherent thoughts while watching McCoy nibble at fresh fruit with his bare fingers, well, he got past that eventually, didn’t he?

It’s nothing.

 

 

It’s still nothing the next day when McCoy lingers in the kitchen again and Jim asks him all about _his_ work this time. Who wouldn’t be fascinated by the chance to talk to an actual brain surgeon?

It’s still nothing the rest of the week when McCoy brings his newspaper into the kitchen and sits next to Jim at the counter to read it, sharing the occasional tidbit. So what if Jim likes to steal bits of food off McCoy’s plate? It’s not like he enjoys the way McCoy grumbles and bats at his hand.

It’s not like his skin tingles at the contact.

Much.

 

 

It’s still nothing the week after that when McCoy’s shift changes again and Jim starts getting up an hour earlier to share coffee and the newspaper with McCoy before he goes into work. They’re not alone anymore, but Jim ignores the knowing looks Hikaru shoots him behind McCoy’s back

Jim ignores the way his heart pounds when McCoy brushes past him on the way to the refrigerator for some more orange juice.

Jim ignores the fact that the kitchen is way too big for McCoy to have passed that close in the first place.

 

 

It’s nothing until it’s something.

 

 

Jim is having his afternoon swim. Steady laps, a simple crawl stroke.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breath.

The wall, a flip.

A stroke, a breath.

When he climbs out, Jocelyn is there along the poolside, sunbathing. She’s face down on one of the loungers, the strap of her bikini untied to give her back that flawless tan so crucial for the best evening wear.

It’s not the first time Jim’s seen this. He can’t say he minds.

Her cell phone rings, but she’s left it just behind her reach. Her eyes open and she sees Jim. She quickly assesses her own dilemma, casts him a rueful smile. “Could you grab that for me?”

He snags a towel and dries his hand, but doesn’t have time for anywhere else as he hurries to pick up the still ringing phone and bring it to her. He’s dripping on her back as she answers the call. They both chuckle and he mouths a silent apology as he dabs at her back with the folded towel still in his other hand.

He steps back when he’s finished, glancing up in the direction of the French doors leading to the house, eyes drawn there by a flash of movement behind the sheer curtains. He smiles to himself as he imagines the teasing he’ll get from Hikaru.

Jim finishes drying off before heading into the house and upstairs to change. He’s walking down the hallway, almost to his room, when a hand clamps around his bare upper arm, jerking him backward. He lets out a startled sound as he finds himself slammed against the wall, staring into the blazing eyes of one Leonard McCoy.

For a moment, they just look at each other, McCoy fuming and Jim trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

No luck with that, by the way.

“Hey, Bones,” Jim tries, “you’re home early.”

This, apparently, is the wrong thing to say.

McCoy’s eyes blaze brighter as he leans all the way into Jim’s personal space. “Are you fucking my wife?” he growls.

Jim’s mouth drops open. “What?”

“You heard me,” McCoy says. “Are. You. Fucking. My. Wife?”

“ _What_?” Jim repeats, once more and with feeling. “No!”

McCoy tightens his grip on Jim’s arm and shakes. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Jim insists, brain finally catching up with the proceedings. “I…You…Whatever you think you saw, it’s not like that. It’s _nothing_ like that. I’m not…I didn’t…I would _never_ …”

“Oh, what?” McCoy snarls. “Because of your deep respect for the sanctity of marriage?”

 _Okay, that was uncalled for_. “Fuck you,” Jim snaps, yanking his arm out of McCoy’s grip. “You think you know me?”

“Well enough,” McCoy sneers.

Jim’s eyes narrow. “Apparently not,” he says, “because if you did, you’d realize I’d never sleep with Jocelyn.”

“Because of your high moral code?”

“Because I happen to like this job.”

McCoy snorts. “Don’t you know? That’s why she hired you.”

Jim’s surprised at how much that hurts. “What the hell is your problem?” he asks, struggling only to sound angry. “I thought we were friends.”

“So did I,” McCoy says.

“I’m gonna say this one more time,” Jim warns, “and then I’m done: I am _not_ sleeping with Jocelyn.”

“ _Well, why not_?” McCoy growls.

And whatever Jim expected him to say, that wasn’t it. Maybe that’s why the real answer comes tumbling out of his mouth.

“Because _she’s_ not the one that I want!”

For a moment, everything freezes and there’s nothing between them but the heavy sound of their breaths. Suddenly, McCoy feels very close and Jim feels very half-naked.

Then McCoy’s hand is back on Jim’s arm, holding him in place again, but it’s a very different heat in his eyes this time as he leans in just slowly enough for Jim to stop him.

Jim doesn’t stop him.


	6. Chapter 6

McCoy surges forward, closing the last inches of space between them. His mouth presses into Jim’s, which parts easily, eagerly, beneath it.

McCoy pins Jim to the wall with the whole of his hot, hard body, shoving his thigh between Jim’s legs, which slide open just as easily as his mouth. Rough denim provides the most delicious friction through the thin material of Jim’s swim trunks.

All the passion, the intensity of their verbal exchange has been redirected, channeled into the physical – the rocking of their hips, the crush of their lips. Their tongues tangle and tussle and Jim vows that he’ll never kiss again without a good fight first to get his blood pumping just this way, to get this same fire burning deep in his belly.

Well, Jim would vow it, if his inner voice had any words right now beyond _Yes_ and _Finally_ and _More, god, more_.

McCoy seems to be on the same page, only with the added wherewithal to push them off the wall and propel them that last five feet down the hall and into Jim’s room.

And thank fuck that.

Jim slams the door behind them just in time for McCoy to slam Jim against said door and go back to devouring Jim’s mouth. Jim’s right hand gropes for the lock and finds it, turns it, just as McCoy’s hands find Jim’s waistband and tug sharply. Jim was wearing exactly one piece of clothing and now it’s down around his ankles. He kicks the swim trunks away, leaving himself well and truly naked.

Exposed.

This seems to give McCoy pause, but not of the second-thoughts variety. He steps back from Jim, but not away, just far enough to look his fill.

“Jesus,” he whispers, reaching out with both hands to map the contours of Jim’s chest with his fingertips. “You’re so…”

He doesn’t finish, but his hands keep moving. Jim’s muscles quiver at the touch and he can’t take his eyes off them – those big, beautiful, talented hands – as they slide over his skin.

He wants to capture one of those hands, to trap it, hold it between his own as he kisses and licks the palm, tracing McCoy’s lifeline with the tip of his tongue. He wants to take those fingers into his mouth, one by one, tonguing over the pad of the fingertip and around the joints, tightening his lips at the base and sucking as he pulls back slowly until the tip pops from his mouth and he can start on the next one.

Jim’s not sure when exactly he developed a hand fetish, but he wants to do all those things – he _will_ do all those things – only right now he never wants McCoy’s hands to leave his body.

Though he could stand to have them move a bit lower…

“Fuck, Bones,” Jim whimpers, “you’ve gotta…I need…”

“Shh,” McCoy murmurs, lowering himself to his knees. Jim’s breath catches in his throat as McCoy reaches out again, running those fingers up the front of Jim’s thighs, brushing his thumbs over Jim’s hipbones and sliding his whole hands around to squeeze and knead at Jim’s ass.

Jim’s hips buck forward of their own accord, but McCoy keeps his grip. And his maddening pace.

After nearly a minute spent in thorough exploration of his ass, the hands slide down the back of Jim’s thighs, and then finally, finally, a warm, broad palm curls around Jim’s cock, firm yet gentle at first as if weighing Jim, assessing him.

Jim might have called the touch ‘clinical,’ except there’s nothing detached about the look in McCoy’s eyes.

Or about the way he leans forward to trace the tip of his tongue along the base of Jim’s glans.

Meanwhile, the other of those clever hands has found Jim’s balls and is performing another of those so-not-fucking-clinical assessments and Jim’s breathing has grown labored. Jim’s palms press back into the door behind him, searching for solid ground.

He gasps, his fingers curling, scratching at the wood as McCoy’s lips form into an ‘O’ and slide slowly but relentlessly down Jim’s shaft. Jim finds himself forced to split his attention between the desperate desire not to embarrass himself by coming too quickly and…well, just plain desperate desire.

In the end, desperate desire wins out a little sooner than Jim had hoped.

And, apparently, sooner than McCoy had expected.

In Jim’s defense, he does try to warn McCoy. “Bones, I…I…”

It’s all the signal most guys would need, but McCoy is either kind of oblivious or very single-minded. Based on the sensations coursing from Jim’s dick through the base of his spine and even to some of his extremities, it’s definitely the latter, though probably both. Jim even gets a hand into McCoy’s hair and tries to tug, but McCoy isn’t budging, and Jim’s orgasm will not be denied.

Jim’s hand clenches in McCoy’s hair as his hips stutter and his muscles go tight and taut. The waves crash through him, then slowly recede, and it’s only by sheer force of will that Jim remains leaning against the door rather than sinking down to the floor in a boneless heap.

 _Boneless, heh._ Jim gives a half-hearted snort.

Unfortunately, while Jim’s orgasm has sent him into a pleasant stupor, Jim’s come in McCoy’s mouth seems to have snapped McCoy _out_ of one.

“Jethus fuckin’ Chrise,” McCoy manages, only half intelligibly, and the sight of McCoy, still on his knees, trying to talk about a mouthful of Jim’s jizz would be hilarious if not for the genuinely horrified look on the man’s face. “Wha’ tha hell was I thin’in’?”

“Spit it out,” Jim suggests.

McCoy stands up and staggers over towards Jim’s bed, grabbing a wad of Kleenex from the nightstand and spitting into it before tossing the whole mess into Jim’s wastebasket.

“Of all the idiotic—I’m a goddamn doctor, for Christ’s sake.”

Jim pushes off the wall and attempts a cautious approach. “Chill out, Bones. I swear, I’m clean. And besides, it’s not like you swallowed.”

“Didn’t swallow?” McCoy’s eyes bulge like they’re going to pop out of his head. “Get a grip, kid. One tiny cut in my check, and whatever’s in _you_ is on a one-way trip straight into _my_ bloodstream. Or maybe you have HSV-1 sitting around down there – doesn’t take symptoms to be contagious. And you think gonorrhea’s bad when there’s green stuff coming out your dick? Just wait until it gets in your throat. Now there’s a cluster fuck. You have any idea how many kids I’ve seen the in the clinic who have no idea what’s even wrong with them because, ‘I swear, doctor, he pulled out before he came’? Not to mention the pregnancies…”

Jim feels a sudden stab of guilt recalling his night with Sulu in the backroom of that club, but shakes it off and reaches out to lay a light hand on McCoy’s shoulder. Abruptly, the wind seems to disappear from McCoy’s sails and he sits hard on the edge of Jim’s bed.

Jim sits down next to him.

“Well, I’m no doctor,” Jim says, “and I may be going out on limb here, but I’m guessing you’re not pregnant.”

McCoy huffs out a laugh, then shakes his head. “Fuck, Jim, I’m sorry, I never should have…”

Jim wishes he thought McCoy was apologizing for the safe-sex lecture.

“Look,” he says, shifting on the bed, turning to face McCoy and starting to undo the buttons of his shirt, “I know you think I’m like the world’s biggest ho-bag, but I promise you, I get tested very, very regularly and I’ve never had anything that couldn’t be cured completely with a course of antibiotics.” McCoy starts to open his mouth but Jim cuts him off at the pass. “And yes, I kept taking them even after I felt better until they were all gone.”

McCoy sighs. “I don’t think you’re a—” He breaks off as Jim slides his now-unbuttoned shirt back and off his shoulders. “What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I think I owe you one.” Jim pushes at McCoy’s shoulders, trying to get him to lie back, but McCoy isn’t having it.

“Jim, we can’t. It’s my fault. I know I started it, and I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you at all and I know it puts you in a terrible position, but I promise—”

“ _Bones_ ,” Jim interjects sharply, “stop apologizing. You didn’t put me in any position I didn’t want to be in, okay?” He can’t resist a tiny version of his trademark smirk. “Up against the door was especially nice.” He schools his face back into something more serious and continues. “And believe me, I know this is a bad idea. But it was a bad idea fifteen minutes ago and it will still be a bad idea another fifteen minutes from now, _after_ I’ve at least given you something better to remember this by. So why don’t you just shut up and lie back for me and let me make you feel good?”

This time, when Jim pushes at McCoy’s shoulders, McCoy doesn’t resist.

Still, it takes a bit more of Jim’s poking and prodding to get McCoy arranged to his satisfaction, head on Jim’s pillows, feet on the end of the bed. Jim surveys McCoy from his own kneeling position on the mattress, shuffling closer until his knees brush McCoy’s left hip, then smiles and swings his right leg over McCoy’s body so that he’s straddling him, but backwards, giving McCoy an excellent view of Jim’s bare ass as Jim reaches down to untie McCoy’s trainers and ease them off his feet.

He removes McCoy’s socks next, taking a moment to rub first at one foot and then the other, pressing the pads of his thumbs along the top of each foot between the first and second metatarsals and earning himself some very heartfelt groans.

Jim’s just getting into it when the foot under his hand tenses up and a broad palm slaps against the side of his thigh. “What the hell are you doing down there?”

(Jim thinks he could do with a few more of those slaps, but declines to mention it at this juncture.)

“Trying to get you to relax,” Jim says, instead. “You’re shit at that, by the way.”

“Get your smart mouth back up here,” McCoy growls.

Jim looks back over his shoulder and smirks. “As you wish.”

He quickly flips around so he’s straddling McCoy in the other direction. Jim can’t tell if McCoy actually got the reference, but from the look on his face, he certainly appreciated the sentiment.

(Jim files that away for future reference, too, and sets about putting his smart mouth to good use.)

His goal no longer has anything to do with relaxation.

He kisses McCoy first, slow and dirty, and whatever McCoy might think about it, Jim really doesn’t mind that he can taste himself inside of McCoy’s mouth. Eventually, he pulls back, nipping at McCoy’s full lower lip and moves his mouth lower, licking, kissing and biting his way down the side of McCoy’s neck and along his collarbone before setting to work on his chest.

McCoy may have his dexterous doctor’s hands, but Jim has his smart, supple mouth, and turnabout is, after all, fair play.

It would have been _so_ unfair if Jim had never gotten the chance to see – and explore – this.

As an experiment, Jim brushes the flat of his tongue over McCoy’s right nipple, delighting in the shiver he receives in return. McCoy’s hands tighten around Jim’s knees, where they’ve come to rest, and Jim quickly moves to give the other nipple the same treatment.

God, but Jim’s a sucker for a man with sensitive nipples.

Meanwhile, McCoy’s erection, which had flagged during the whole after-school special portion of the proceedings, is back in full force. Jim knows this because he’s been grinding his ass back against the ever-stiffening denim for some time now.

In fact, a few more minutes like this, and even Jim’s dick may rejoin the party.

Jim wriggles his way backwards, mouthing a beeline down the center of McCoy’s torso to McCoy’s still-covered cock. Once there, however, he ignores the button and zipper in favor of tracing the contours of that cock through McCoy’s jeans.

Tracing, palming, sculpting, rubbing.

Waiting.

“For fuck’s sake, take it out already,” McCoy snaps, his hands gripping and twisting the fabric of Jim’s bedcover. “Or I’m gonna do it for you.”

Jim smothers his grin and looks up McCoy’s body to his face, blinking in his best imitation of innocence. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I didn’t want to do anything that wouldn’t be _safe_.”

“I know how to kill you and make it look like an accident,” McCoy informs him.

Jim smirks and unbuttons, then unzips McCoy’s fly.

With his teeth.

He tugs the jeans down McCoy’s hips, past his knees, and off over his feet. This leaves McCoy lying there in nothing but a charcoal gray pair of boxer briefs and, holy shit, it’s like Christmas in July.

Jim reaches down to peel the wrapping off of his present.

“Fuck…” McCoy breathes and it’s like he stole the word right out of Jim’s mouth.

The waistband of the underwear still clings to McCoy, just below his hips, and Jim means to take them all the way off, but he’s way the hell too distracted by the need to look, to touch, to wrap his hand around McCoy’s cock and feel its heat in his palm.

After a stroke or two, though, that’s no longer enough.

“Don’t move,” Jim hisses, scrambling up the bed and fumbling in his nightstand for the lube.

He gets his hand slicked up and then carefully lays himself out, all along McCoy’s side. He reaches down and carefully coats McCoy’s cock before swiping the rest over his own. By the time he’s finished, McCoy has seen where this is going and shifts onto his side so they’re lying face to face.

Jim gets his hand wrapped around both their cocks just as McCoy gets a hand wrapped around the back of Jim’s skull, and all of a sudden things crash back into overdrive – all rough kisses, thrusting hips and the slide of sweat-slickened chests until they both go careening over the edge.

When Jim regains his breath and the capacity for thought, they’re both lying on their backs, sweaty and sticky, with the thick smell of sex between them.

Jim’s never been great with unfilled silences.

“So, um, that happened.”

He doesn’t look over at McCoy, but he can hear the sigh and feel the shifting movement that has to be McCoy’s hand pushing roughly through his own hair. “Jim, I…”

“Had a great time, but need me to know that this can never happen again?” Jim suggests, when no further words seem to be forthcoming. “Yeah, don’t worry, I get it.”

“Jim…”

Jim does turn to look at him, then, and tries for a smile. “You did have a good time, right?”

McCoy frowns. “Of course. I mean, it was…”

“Good,” Jim says briskly, rolling away from McCoy to climb off the bed. “So now we’ve both got it out of our systems and we’ll just go back to how things were before.” He grabs a tee shirt out of his dirty laundry hamper and uses it to wipe himself down before pulling on a pair of track pants and a clean tee. He turns back to McCoy, who’s now sitting on the other edge of the bed. “Right?”

“Right,” McCoy says, standing to pull up his underwear and then slipping back into his own jeans and shirt. “Just like it was before.”

McCoy turns, and they stand facing each other for a moment. Jim glances over at the door.

“So, I guess you should…”

McCoy looks at the door and back at Jim again. “Um, you should probably go out there first. Check to make sure it’s clear.”

“Oh,” Jim says. “Right.”

He swallows and gives himself a quick once-over, then opens the door and steps out into the hall.

“Hey, Jim!” Joanna says.

Jim struggles not to jump straight out of his skin. “Hey, Jo,” he manages. “Hey, Gaila.”

“Have you seen my daddy?” Joanna asks.

Jim’s heart nearly stops.

Thankfully, Gaila must take his utter paralysis for confusion. “We saw his car in the drive,” she explains, giving Jim’s brain just enough time to spring back into action.

He forces a half-smile onto his face. “I think he went for a run. He’s probably in the shower.”

Gaila nods. “Let’s go play in your room,” she suggests to Joanna. “We’ll find your dad a little later.”

“’Kay,” Joanna says. The two take off down the hall.

Jim waits until he hears the distant click of Joanna’s bedroom door before ducking back into his own room. From the stricken expression on McCoy’s face – the one that surely mirror’s Jim’s own – Jim can tell he heard every word.

“This can never happen again,” Jim says.

This time, he really means it.

McCoy nods.

Jim squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again. “Better go take that shower, while the coast is still clear.”

McCoy swallows and disappears without another word.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Jim wakes up before his alarm. He spends the half hour between waking up and his alarm questioning whether he should get up with the alarm or stay in bed long enough to miss his breakfast and newspaper time with McCoy.

When it finally goes off, he’s still undecided.

He goes ahead and showers, if only because shower time is prime thinking time. The rush of the water always helps to clear his head.

Jerking off also helps to clear his head.

Or so Jim convinces himself, since it certainly has nothing to do with the fact that he’s been thinking about McCoy for almost an hour now.

Not to mention his dreams.

As the come washes down the drain, Jim comes to a conclusion. He gets dressed and heads downstairs. Not because he _wants_ to see McCoy, but only because he doesn’t _not_ want to see McCoy.

This, Jim is certain by the time he reaches the kitchen, is a crucial difference.

 _Seeing_ McCoy for breakfast will absolutely prove that it is _not_ important that Jim _not_ see McCoy, which has to be way better than _not_ seeing McCoy and wondering whether _seeing_ him would have proved problematic.

This totally makes sense in Jim’s head.

McCoy, however, is nowhere to be seen.

Apparently, _he_ didn’t get the memo.

Jim keeps his expression neutral as he says good morning to Hikaru and goes about his breakfast like it’s no big deal, digging up a section of yesterday’s newspaper that he never got to.

Jim keeps his head down, buried in some theater review, while Hikaru pretends not be looking at Jim out of the corner of his eye.

Hikaru prepares a tray with a bagel, fresh fruit and a cup of coffee, adds today’s newspaper to it, and carries it out in the direction of the dining room. When he returns, he makes a bunny rabbit in the foam of Jim’s latte.

Jim manages a smile.

 

 

Tiny twinges of guilt haunt Jim’s first few minutes with Joanna that morning, but they’re quickly overshadowed by the joy of teaching. Joanna is her usual eager and engaged, and she’s opened up so much to Jim in these past weeks, and it’s good to remember that preserving that (not to mention the money Jim’s saved for school next year) is so much more important than sex.

Even really really good sex.

Jim is _not_ thinking about sex while teaching Joanna.

That would be just plain unprofessional.

 

 

Time comes for Jim’s afternoon swim.

Jocelyn, he can see, is already out in the outdoor seating area meeting with a woman he remembers as her event planner. It’s hard to imagine pulling off their usual interaction, but Jim thinks he’s ready to try.

He gets as far as digging his swim trunks out from under the dresser where they must have gotten kicked at some point during...

He decides to go for a run instead.

 

 

Hanging out in the kitchen that afternoon, Jim can tell Sulu is watching him and wondering.

Jim lasts about half an hour before he takes his computer upstairs to work at the desk in his room.

When he realizes he’s trying to read the same page for about the fifth time, he gives up, stretches out on his bed and watches videos on Youtube until dinnertime.

 

 

Jim expects to see McCoy when he heads downstairs for dinner, if only in passing or from a distance, but all he gets is an overhead half of a phone call. From Jocelyn’s responses, McCoy seems to have taken over an extra shift for a “sick” colleague.

So, that’s how it’s gonna be.

 

 

It’s Friday night, and Gaila and Sulu suggest taking over the media room for a movie and maybe some gaming, but suddenly Jim doesn’t feel like staying in.

He needs to get out.

He hits a dive bar in Allston and ends up going home with a girl named Kelsey, who has spiky bleached blond hair, a genuine affection for cheap beer, and small, pert breasts that fit nicely into the palms of his hands. Her bedroom is cramped but Jim finds room on the floor at the end of the bed and goes down on her until she’s cursing him out like a sailor. After, Jim climbs up off his knees and they make the most of her tiny twin bed, and yes, Jim remembers to wear a condom.

He pretends to be too drunk to drive home, so she lets him crash on her couch. It’s not bad, for a couch, until the roommate wakes up and kicks Jim out.

Who the hell gets up at six a.m. on a Saturday anyway?

Whatever, at least Jim will be home in time for breakfast.

 

 

Apparently, McCoy gets up at six a.m. on Saturday, too.

Which is how Jim manages to run into him – literally. Jim’s on his way into the kitchen for a bottle of water and McCoy’s on his way out of the kitchen _with_ a bottle of water and Jim thinks things might be a little less awkward if Jim weren’t so obviously still wearing last night’s clothes.

Or if McCoy was actually wearing a shirt.

“Hey, I, uh…”

“Sorry, I was just…”

“Yeah, you should, er…”

“Right. Okay, then…”

Jim continues into the kitchen and McCoy continues out of it. Jim downs his bottle of water in three long gulps and goes upstairs to go back to sleep.

 

 

Jim isn’t hiding in his room, that’s just where he still happens to be when the knock comes on his door just after noon.

“Who is it?” Jim calls.

He has just enough time to hope for something he shouldn’t before the answer comes, in a distinctly Irish lilt. “Cure for what ails you.”

“Come in,” Jim says, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. Or nervous about what exactly Gaila thinks is ailing him.

The tension drops from Jim’s shoulders when he gets a look at the tray Gaila is carrying: a large plate of very late breakfast and glass full of smoothie in a dubious shade of green.

He’s been diagnosed with a hangover, then, which isn’t so bad. Although choking down Hikaru’s miracle hangover cure without an actual bitch of hangover for motivation isn’t something Jim relishes.

Gaila, misreading the wary look Jim is leveling at the smoothie, pulls a small flask from somewhere in the area of her bosom (which Jim has to admit is a neat trick). “If you can’t stomach Hikaru’s cure, how about a little ‘hair of the dog’?”

Jim reaches for the flask without hesitation. Either he’s playing along about the hangover or he really just wants a drink – you know, before one in the afternoon. He decides to go with playing along.

The instant the alcohol hits his tongue, Jim realizes his mistake. Gaila must have gotten it from McCoy’s decanter.

It tastes – it _smells_ – like Bones.

Like the inside of his mouth, like the heat of his breath.

_Fuck._

Jim tips the flask back and swallows quickly, the bourbon burling a trail down his throat. He coughs.

“You alright there, Jimmy?”

God, he so obviously _isn’t_.

Jim nods anyway, blinking as his eyes begin to water. “I’m fine.” _He lies._ “Got a little carried away.” _He admits._ “Just need a minute to recover.” _He keeps on telling himself._

He hopes that Gaila still thinks he’s talking about the bourbon.

He reaches for the breakfast plate and shoves a couple of forkfuls of potatoes into his mouth to sooth his battered throat.

To smooth over the taste.

Gaila is looking at Jim now, studying him, and it makes him nervous as hell. She’s always had a way of seeing straight through his bullshit.

And, honestly, Jim would love spill his guts, to shove this 300-pound secret off his fucking chest, but he knows it wouldn’t be fair. He trusts Gaila and Hikaru, absolutely, but this house is their workplace, this family is their livelihood, and it will continue to be long after Jim is gone.

Back to school. Back to his shithole apartment.

Jim forces a smile and swallows the food in his mouth. “Thanks for bringing this up, Gaila. I was starving. I’ll take the tray back down when I’m finished.”

Gaila clearly recognizes the comment for the dismissal it’s intended to be, but for a moment Jim’s not sure she’s going to accept it.

She gives him one more once over, then sighs. “Well, don’t you go getting too used to it,” she grumbles. “I’m nobody’s parlor maid.”

Jim flashes another smile, more genuine this time. “Duly noted.”

When Gaila closes the door behind herself, Jim breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s not that she and Hikaru don’t deserve to know, it’s that they deserve not to _have_ to know.

Without knowing, there’s no hiding, no lying, no figuring out whose ass to cover or how. Basically, what you don’t know can’t get you fired.

(Well, at least as far as your employers’ sex lives are concerned.)

Jim’s need for a confessor will just have to take a backseat.

 

 

Jim goes out again on Saturday night and doesn’t come back until Sunday.

Still, by the time Monday morning arrives, Jim’s never been so glad for a fieldtrip day. It occurs to him that he’s basically avoiding every person in the house.

Every _adult_ , anyway.

The sad truth is that without Joanna, Jim would probably be going a little crazy right now.

Well, a little _more_ crazy.

Even with Joanna, Jim is fucking lonely and restless and he’s not sure how much longer he can take it.

 

 

On Thursday he’s supposed to meet with Jocelyn and McCoy to update them on Joanna’s progress. By Tuesday, Jim’s started rehearsing conversations in his head. By Wednesday, he’s actually jotting down notes.

Thursday morning, Jim Kirk, king of the extemporaneous, master of eleventh-hour bullshit, types up and prints a full-fledged outline complete with bullet points.

 _Fucking bullet points_.

Forget trying to see or not see McCoy at home, Jim should be scheduling a _medical_ appointment with the man to get his damn head examined.

Thursday afternoon finds Jim reading over his cheat sheet, jotting new notes in the margins and marveling at how pathetic he’s become.

Also, watching the clock.

Like a hawk.

As the time grows near, Jim actually gets better, not worse. These are the moments he lives for – the moments were everything’s fucked but there’s a job to be done. When it’s do or die, no time to whine. When you’re deep down in it and the only way out is _through_.

Okay, so a fifteen-to-thirty minute check-in chat with people who already think you’re doing a bang-up job isn’t exactly Thunderdome, but Jim is ready for it.

He’s gonna look McCoy straight in the eye and tell him that his daughter is a joy to work with, that she absorbs information like a sponge, and that she’s making remarkable strides in her social skills.

And nothing is going to stop him.

 _So there_.

 

 

Except when Jim gets to Jocelyn’s office, she’s the only one in it.

Jocelyn notices Jim looking around the room and sighs. “Leonard called and said he wasn’t going to make it. I told him we could push back the meeting, but he says he’s not sure what time he’ll make it home tonight, or if he even will.”

“Oh,” Jim says, searching for something better to say but coming up short.

“I know he doesn’t think the things I do for his career or this family are important, but he used to at least care about his daughter.” Jocelyn looks genuinely frustrated and it makes Jim’s throat tighten.

“Well, um…you know…I mean, it’s just one meeting,” he offers.

Jocelyn sighs again. “For now, I suppose.” Jim watches as she visibly gathers her composure and then moves to take a seat behind her desk. “Anyhow, I apologize for him. Go ahead and tell me how things are going.”

Heart pounding, Jim pulls his notes from his back pocket, sits on the other side of the desk and starts going over his bullet points.

 

 

 

Jim supposes it might surprise people, but he actually doesn’t have all that much experience with guilt. He’s broken more than his fair share of rules, no doubt, but he’s always had his reasons.

Like that summer before his senior year of high school when Jim’s friend Colby “Aussie” Murrew found out he hadn’t gotten the SAT score he needed to get a scholarship to his first choice college.

The stupid thing was that Aussie was wicked smart. Focused, too. Motivated in ways it would take Jim years to understand, but never obnoxious about it. Just a bright, hardworking guy, who did his own thing. Quiet in public, but funny as hell once you got to know him.

Total college material.

Only poor.

Meanwhile, there was Jim, with a small college fund (courtesy of a father he never knew) that he never even intended to use.

Well, until his school hired a persistent new guidance counselor who seemed more interested in some old aptitude tests Jim once took than his status as a juvenile repeat offender. Until that quietly relentless man who used to a Marine – just like Jim’s dad (and mom), not that Jim cared – dared Jim to do better.

Jim, who only sometimes went to class, who got bored and distracted when he did bother to show, who got suspended about once a month his whole junior year.

How could it possibly be fair that a guy who took the SAT on a dare outscored one who pored over prep books every night for month in pursuit of his dreams?

Outscored by over thirty percentile points, for fuck’s sake.

That summer, Jim and Aussie were spending most of their days over at Aussie’s place working on the old junker cars Aussie’s dad liked to collect. Then one night they hooked up with a couple local girls and drove to Iowa City to see _The Perfect Score_. Mediocre movie and completely inaccurate in most of its details, but by the time the credits rolled Jim knew what he had to do.

It took him one month to work out a foolproof plan, two weeks to seduce the girl with the right equipment, and three tries while she was out of her apartment running an emergency errand to make the perfect fake ID.

He never bothered to tell Aussie about any of it, let alone ask his permission, but on October 9th, 2004, an unusually blue-eyed Colby Murrew walked into a high school gym in Iowa City and kicked some SAT ass.

Jim knew by the look on Aussie’s face exactly when the results had finally arrived in the mail, but they never spoke of it. The risk was too high.

Still, the day Aussie found out he’d gotten his scholarship, he stole a bottle of his dad’s vodka and he and Jim celebrated by getting sloppy drunk in the loft of an old abandoned barn outside of town, lying on their backs and staring out through the busted roof at the Iowa stars.

Jim doesn’t know if _Aussie_ ever lost any sleep over the whole thing.

Jim only knows that _he_ never did.

 

Anyway, it may sound corny, but Jim has a code. His own code, sure, but a code all the same.

A sense of right and wrong.

He’s never picked a fight with someone who wasn’t asking for it, never cheated in a fair game, never taken anything from anyone who didn’t deserve to lose it – at least not on purpose – and his conscience has always stayed pretty clean.

Until now.

 

 

Jim barely makes it through Joanna’s Friday lessons. It’s like there’s an itching under his skin. Less than half an hour after handing her over to Gaila, Jim has thrown some clothes into an overnight bag, nicked a bottle of McCoy’s bourbon from the pantry, and hit the road.

Four hours later, he’s in Brooklyn, jogging up two flights of stairs and knocking on the door of apartment 3B.

He hears the light footsteps as they cross the apartment to the door, notes the overlong silence as she obviously eyes him through the peephole. Finally, the sound of the chain being unlocked and the clicks of the double deadbolts.

“Nyota,” Jim says, flashing her his very most endearing smile. “Looking exceptionally fine, as usual.”

She is, as usual, completely unmoved. “Kirk,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest as she continues to stand in the doorway, “were we expecting you?”

“Aw,” Jim says, “and here I brought you a present and everything.”

He pulls the bottle of bourbon out from behind his back. Nyota uncrosses her arms and takes hold of it, drawing it closer to scrutinize the label.

After a long moment, she sighs and steps aside to let Jim enter. “Spock’ll be home in an hour.”


	8. Chapter 8

Nyota has barely locked the door them when she starts opening the bottle.

Sometimes, Jim really loves the way this woman thinks.

He goes straight for the kitchen to grab them a couple of tumblers and meets her in the living room.

“You’re gonna love this,” he promises as he pours them both generous helpings of the Pappy Van Winkle’s 23-year-old Family Reserve. He watches eagerly as she takes an elegant whiff over the top of the glass and then her first sip. The bottle was more than a bribe; he’s really hoping to impress her.

“Okay, yeah,” she says, nodding, “this was totally worth letting you in for. I mean, wow. It’s so smooth.”

Jim beams and takes his own taste while she continues to sip and savor. His eyes track the movements of her mouth as she rolls the bourbon around for a few seconds, letting it wash over her tongue before finally allowing it to slide smoothly down her throat.

He smiles at the sight – and not just because he’s a little turned on.

Everything Jim knows about whisky, he learned from Nyota Uhura. He’d been all about the cheap beer (and the occasional cheap clear liquor) before she came into his (well, technically, Spock’s) life. While Spock and Nyota turned out to be compatible in a variety of unexpected and mysterious ways Jim has never been able to fully discern (and has often quietly coveted), drinking has never been one of them.

Nyota inherited from her father a deep passion for whiskies of all varieties.

Spock inherited from his father an equally deep commitment to teetotalism.

Difficult for them at first, but ultimately not so bad for Jim, since he’s pretty sure Nyota never would have started speaking to him again (after their rather memorable first meeting) if she hadn’t practically moved into his and Spock’s apartment sophomore year and found herself in need of a convenient drinking buddy.

“I feel like every sip I take I get a little something different.” Nyota studies the bottle again. “Bourbon doesn’t usually stand up to this kind of aging. Where’d you get this?”

“I stole it,” Jim says.

Nyota rolls her eyes. “Of course you did.”

“From my boss,” Jim adds. He likes the way that sounds, like Doctor McCoy’s just some rich douche bag, good for a paycheck and pilfered liquor. “It’s not like he’ll even notice.”

(Unless he does, in which case he’ll either have to suck it up or actually talk to Jim for a change.)

Nyota considers this for a moment, takes another drink, then shrugs. “So you get fired. From where I’m standing? Totally worth it. I want to _bathe_ in this stuff.”

Jim laughs and tops off both their glasses. “You _do_ know I’m totally going to be jerking off to that image tonight?”

“You _do_ know that you’re a pig?” Nyota counters.

Jim just shrugs. If it helps him _not_ to think of Bones every time he so much as smells this bourbon?

Totally worth it.

 

 

“Wow, man,” Jim says as Nyota brings out a steaming platter of fried plantains followed by a large pot of groundnut stew and a bowl of rice, “does she feed you like this every night?”

Nyota cuffs Jim in the back of the head as she passes by on the way to her own seat. “ _She_ does not,” she says.

“She does not,” Spock confirms.

“Aha!” Jim says. “I _knew_ you were happy to see me.”

“Hate to break to it you, Kirk…” she _so_ does not, “but it’s got nothing to do with you. I was brought up to believe you _always_ serve food to a guest, no matter how unwelcome. I’ve tried to break the habit, just ask Spock.”

Jim looks to Spock.

Spock shrugs. “She has repeatedly insisted that she wishes to resist this urge, but given her strength of resolve in all other areas of her life, I sometimes doubt her sincerity.”

Jim chuckles.

The glare Nyota levels at Spock is much more playful then the one Jim is used to receiving. “I can’t help it. It’s like my mother’s voice is permanently lodged in my head.” Her eyes turn even more teasing. “Of course, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, _aimé_?”

If Jim hadn’t known Spock for so long, he might not have detected the smile Spock grants her in return. “It is not my mother’s voice that I hear,” he says. “In any case, Jim, whether Nyota breaks herself of her ingrained hospitality or not, you are always welcome here. We can, as you say, always order pizza.”

Jim grins at that. Before they started rooming together Freshman year, Spock had never ordered a pizza in his entire life.

_“It’s like you’re from a different planet,” Jim had said, eyes wide with disbelief._

_Spock had merely raised an eyebrow._

_Jim had stared at him for one more second before shrugging it off, whipping out his phone and hitting five on his speed dial._

_“Don’t worry, man,” Jim had said, slapping Spock on the back as he listened to the ringing, waiting for the local pizza joint to pick up, “I’ll be happy to teach you our Earthling ways.”_

“Eh, Nyota loves me,” Jim informs Spock, sotto voce. “It’s just taking her a really long time to realize it.”

“I imagine another five years will suffice,” Spock deadpans.

“Just you wait,” Jim says. “One of these days she’s totally going to run off with me.”

Spock nods. “I shall hold my breath.”

 

 

“So, anyway,” Jim concludes, “the money is unbelievable – though I’d teach Jo for free if I had to – and the food is to die for. And I told you about the home theater, right? Not to mention the swimming pool.”

“You have mentioned the swimming pool,” Spock notes. “Three-point-five times, by my count.”

“Point five?” Jim asks.

“You referenced the pool in passing while relating the experience of a particularly palatable meal your Mr. Sulu had prepared.”

“Oh, right.” Jim grins. “Anyway, enough about _my_ awesome life. How’re things going with you two?” He looks to Noyota. “Have you taken the New York dance scene by storm?” He looks back to Spock. “Are you like totally running the lab? I bet you are, even if no one else has noticed it yet.”

“Jim…” Spock begins.

“Aw, come on, don’t be modest.”

“I am not modest. Though it does not pay to be boastful.”

“It _totally_ pays to be boastful,” Jim says.

A slight twitch in Spock’s expression signifies his contempt for this notion. “While histories of science frequently rely on narratives that laud the accomplishments of so-called ‘Great Men’…”

“Because no _woman_ ever did any science,” Nyota mutters from across the table.

“…in reality, the best founded and most enduringly successful scientific endeavors are almost always collaborative ones,” Spock concludes.

“Uh huh.” Jim nods, still smiling. “And I’m sure you collaborate with an iron fist.”

Nyota does a poor job of covering her snicker behind her napkin.

Spock shrugs. “I have noted an average fifteen percent drop in the efficiency of our team’s output on those workdays for which I am absent.”

Jim’s smile widens. “That’s my boy.”

“Jim…” Spock begins again.

“Teasing,” Jim reminds him. “We’ve talked about this.”

Jim will never not be amazed by the way that Spock can convey rolling his eyes without actually bothering to move them.

“I have not forgotten that you consider the exchange of witty repartee to be the foundation of a lasting friendship. Nor will I raise my ongoing objection that it is mutual respect and loyalty that actually serve this function at this time…”

“Mentioning it counts as raising it,” Jim sing-songs under his breath.

“I simply wish to point out,” Spock continues, unfazed, “that while the fact of your having finally secured mature and gainful employment is indeed laudatory, it is quite unlikely that you made an unannounced visit simply to inform us of this fact.”

Jim’s eye rolls tend to involve the actual rolling of eyes. “Did you really need that many words, Spock? Really?”

“Something’s up, Kirk,” Nyota says, cutting to the chase as always. “Now quite stalling and tell us what it is.”

Already, Jim feels a bit of the weight lift from his chest. There is, after all, a reason he chose to run _here_.

Still, he hesitates.

“If you don’t…” Nyota begins. “I could just…” She gestures toward the bedroom.

Jim shakes his head. “Thanks, but stay. I did it; the least I can do is admit to it.” He gives her a wry half-smile. “Besides, I know I can count on you not to go easy on me.”

“Jim…” Spock says.

“Okay, yeah, you won’t go easy on me either,” Jim amends. He lets out a short, nervous laugh. “Why did I come here again?”

“Because we are your friends,” Spock answers calmly, “unconditionally. And you are stalling again.”

“Fine, okay,” Jim says, taking a deep breath and letting it all out in a rush. “I maybe sort of might have hooked up with my boss last week and I know it was dumb and it could hurt a lot of people I care about, but I just thought we were becoming friends and I didn’t realize it was going to get all…”

Jim trails off, waving a hand in lieu of any attempt to find the right description. He blinks and looks at Spock then Nyota in turn and is relieved that neither has recoiled in horror. They’re calm, patient, ready to keep listening, and yeah, _that’s_ why he came here.

Nyota offers him a small smile. “Sounds like an episode of the Real Housewives,” she quips.

The corner of Jim’s mouth twitches. “It, um, wasn’t the housewife.”

“You slept with Doctor McCoy, then,” Spock surmises.

“Yeah,” Jim says. “I mean, he kinda thought I was sleeping with his wife, but I, uh, think I managed to convince him otherwise.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “You could think of no better demonstration of your sincerity?”

“Um, he was pretty up close and personal by that point.” Jim offers a sheepish smile. “I, um, kinda lost focus.”

“Indeed,” Spock says.

“It’s not like I planned it or anything. I mean, it kind of came out of the blue. I’m pretty sure Bones actually hated me for a while.”

“Bones?” Spock asks.

“Oh, um, yeah, that’s a nickname I gave him. We were at this museum with Jo, and she was kind of fawning over me because I was new and cool, and he was kind of pouting, you know, feeling left out, so then I…” Jim trails off again. “Well, anyway.”

“I’m thinking that probably should have been your first clue,” Nyota points out.

Jim shrugs. “Yeah, there may have been some denial. Possibly a little displacement. I don’t know, it’s just…. I mean, even when he thought I was an irresponsible, oversexed asshole there was still this…chemistry.”

Spock and Nyota both nod and Jim guesses maybe they get the whole chemistry thing, what with Spock’s father never approving of their relationship and never bothering to hide his opinion.

What with them still sitting here together today.

“I’m going to fix some tea,” Nyota announces, standing up and disappearing into the kitchen.

Jim waits until he hears the water running, looks across the table at Spock. “I miss him,” he admits softly. “We said it could never happen again and, I swear, I totally meant it, but now he’s been avoiding me for over a week and it’s driving me crazy. I want to see him so bad.” He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again. “Am I a terrible person?”

“You are not,” Spock says. “You are only human.”

 

 

The next morning Jim wakes to the sound of a closing door. When he pushes off the sheet and sits up on the couch, the first thing he notices is the steaming to-go cup sitting on the table in front of him.

It’s coffee and it smells delicious.

He’s just taking his first glorious sip when Spock walks out of the bedroom, hair still wet from his shower.

“Morning,” Jim murmurs.

“Good morning,” Spock says. “Nyota has left for a rehearsal. We will have the day to ourselves.”

Jim nods, running a hand through his bedhead. “Cool.”

He looks down at the coffee cup and smiles as he realizes where it came from.

Nyota _totally_ loves him.

 

 

Once Jim is showered and dressed, they head to the farmer’s market, browsing casually for a bit before picking up some bread, cheeses and fresh vegetables. Jim stops them in front of a flower stall. He surveys the offerings, then picks out a full, bright bouquet.

“If you don’t get them for her,” he tells Spock, “I will.”

Spock takes the flowers from Jim’s hand and pays the vendor.

They stop back by the apartment to drop off their purchases and then head out to brunch. It’s weekend crowded and they have to wait a while for a table, but the conversation and the people-watching are good, and suddenly it feels like a very long time since Jim felt this at ease.

Spock orders a tomato juice. Jim goes for a Bloody Mary.

After brunch, they take a long stroll through the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens and Jim happily allows Spock to rattle on, filling his brain with a few hundred facts about flora and fauna. Jim’s always found learning soothing – at least when it happens at the right pace.

Fast.

Wellesley College has botanic gardens. Jim thinks maybe he’ll take Joanna there on Monday. He knows nearly enough now to keep up with her curiosity.

“What’s next?” Jim asks as they exit.

“I was hoping you would accompany me to my meditation class,” Spock says.

Jim tries to keep himself from pulling a face. “Um, I’m not really sure mediation is my thing.”

“There is no one in this world for whom meditation would not be a worthy pursuit,” Spock informs Jim with absolute certainty.

 _Uh huh_ , Jim thinks. “Still,” he says,” I mean, group classes aren’t exactly my style...”

“As you know, I often meditate at home, but I find there is a certain…comfort in attempting it with others. The class leader has suggested to me that we all need a little help finding our center now and again.”

This is when Jim recognizes the theme for their day.

“Yeah,” he says, “okay.”

 

 

The meditation doesn’t exactly heal Jim, but it does help; doesn’t solve his problems, but puts them in perspective, makes them feel more manageable.

It’s something.

 

 

Spock makes dinner that night and Jim helps out using a few things he picked up watching Sulu.

When Nyota gets home from rehearsal and sees the dinner, she kisses Spock.

When she sees the flowers, she kisses him again and for longer.

It’s hardly fair, but it does make Jim smile.

 

 

Much later that night, Spock and Nyota have retired to their bedroom, leaving Jim to his made-up couch. The lights in the living room are out and he sits on top of the sheets watching random sitcom reruns at a barely audible volume.

Tomorrow he has to go back.

Sometime later a light goes on in the kitchen. He hears the clinking of glass and then the light goes out again. When he looks up and behind him, Nyota is standing there in a green satin nightgown and matching peignoir, the bottle of bourbon in one hand and two glasses in the other, lit only by the glow of the television.

Jim blinks at her. “Am I dreaming?” he asks. Not like it’d be the first time.

Nyota shakes her head. “I think you’d have to fall asleep first.”

“Look,” Jim says, as she starts gliding towards him, “not that this scene doesn’t bear more than a passing resemblance to some of my very best sophomore year fantasies, but Spock is like my best friend in the world and…”

Nyota rolls her eyes as she moves around the couch and takes a seat next to Jim, setting the bottle and glasses on the coffee table. “Spock knows why I’m here.”

“Okay…” Jim says slowly. “I can’t quite decide if that weirds me out or turns me on.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Kirk. I’m here to talk.” Nyota opens the bottle and pours a healthy few fingers in each of the glasses. “ _You’ll_ be listening.”

Nyota picks up her glass and downs about half of it in one swallow.

“Damn,” Jim says.

Nyota picks up Jim’s glass and hands it to him. “Shut up and drink up.”

“Aye aye,” Jim says, giving her a mock salute before lifting the glass to his lips.

“I had an affair with a married man,” Nyota announces without warning just as Jim’s starting to drink.

He chokes.

“What?” he wheezes between coughs. “When?”

“The year after I transferred to NYU. It lasted about ten months.”

“You… But… Shit,” Jim says, his entire image of Nyota rearranging itself in his head. He takes another drink and actually swallows it this time. “And Spock knows about this?”

“Spock and I don’t keep secrets,” Nyota says. “And I wasn’t cheating on him, if that’s what you’re wondering. When I left Iowa State we agreed to see other people. I was still trying to figure out my life, neither of our parents were happy with us or with our relationship, and New York felt really far away. Spock believed that leaving ourselves open to other possibilities was only logical.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Jim says, nodding slowly. “He never did, you know. See anyone else.”

“I know,” Nyota says. “So anyway, these friends of my parents owned a high-end restaurant in Tribeca and they gave me a job waitressing there. Maybe they didn’t know that my parents didn’t approve of my moving to New York to study dance. Maybe they did know but thought they should look out for me. Hell, maybe my parents _asked_ them to look out for me. I don’t know. I just knew it was a way to survive on my own and I didn’t want to ruin it by asking too many questions. In any case, I was working way too many hours and having trouble keeping up with school and rehearsal, but I was making my rent. The tips were fantastic, especially when you got to know the regulars.”

Nyota pauses in her story to refill both their glasses, but this time when she lifts the glass to her mouth, she takes a slower sip.

“I liked him right away. He was nice to look at and always left big tips. As time went by, we got to talking and I liked him even more. Sometimes he would say these ridiculously cheesy things, but he always seemed so sincere about it, maybe even a little embarrassed. It never quite felt like a pick-up. After about a month, he asked me out and I said yes. I didn’t even hesitate.”

Nyota stops suddenly, narrows her gaze at Jim. “What?” she asks. “What’s that look?”

Jim, not having realized he was giving her a look, quickly schools his expression. “Nothing,” he says. “It just doesn’t sound like you, is all. To be so easily won over.” Jim knows of what he speaks in this department.

For a moment, Nyota looks like she’s going to argue, but then she gives a rueful smile and nods her agreement. “Yeah, it was weird, but I don’t know, I guess I was lonely or feeling out of place or something. And I liked the way he listened to me talk. That first dinner, I got so swept up. He took me to this lovely restaurant, the kind I’d been working in but could never afford to eat at. He didn’t blink when I ordered a scotch while we were waiting for the table. It felt like he wanted to know everything about me, like I was endlessly fascinating. I was having such a wonderful time. And then, over dessert, just when I was ready to follow him home, he told me that he was married.”

“Wow,” Jim says, “what an asshole.”

Nyota laughs softly. “You’d think that, right? But then he told me about how his wife was sick, had been for years, was probably dying. And it wasn’t like he didn’t still care about her, it was just he’d spent so much time caring for her and it was so exhausting and they’d both changed so much in the last several years. He told me he’d fallen out of love with her somewhere along the way and that at first he’d felt guilty but eventually he’d realized it was only natural, the same kind of thing that happens to a lot of couples, only it wasn’t like he could ask for a divorce with the state she was in. Plus, she needed to stay on his insurance.”

Nyota closes her eyes and shakes her head, lets out a long sigh. “Oh god, it sounds like such a _line_ now, but he was a very convincing liar and I felt so sorry for him. He sounded so noble and his life sounded so tragic and I kept telling myself that he deserved to seize a little happiness where he could find it. I told myself there was nothing wrong with giving him that. He could have lied, I would remind myself. He could have kept the marriage from me for as long as he could have gotten away with it, but instead he just told me straight out on the first date, before we’d even slept together. I was certain that proved he was a good man. A good man caught in a bad situation.”

“So you kept seeing him?” Jim asks.

“I kept seeing him,” Nyota confirms. “He was smart, easy to talk to, and when he’d take me out I could forget that I could barely afford groceries or that my parents might be right and the whole move might still turn out to be the worst mistake of my life. I had roommates and his home and family were in Connecticut somewhere, so we’d spend evenings, sometimes nights, in hotel rooms. At first it made the whole thing very romantic and exciting, then it started to make the whole thing feel clichéd and cheap, and then I guess I just sort of got used to it. Or maybe I just kept thinking it wouldn’t last forever, that he’d be free someday so we could be together.”

The remembered hope in her voice makes Jim’s chest ache.

“Then one day he took me to this charming little apartment not far from the restaurant and told me he’d rented it out. For me. At first I told him I couldn’t let him do that, of course, but he seemed so proud of the place. I mean, it was like he wanted me to like it so much that it felt wrong not to be happy about it. I told myself it was a sign of how serious he was, that things were moving forward. But after a couple months, I started to realize it was just the opposite. He was settling in to our relationship, sure, but my permanent role wasn’t partner, it was mistress. I tried more than once to tell him I was unhappy, but it was always more gifts and more sob stories about his miserable life.”

“Fuck that,” Jim says. “What about _your_ miserable life?”

“That should have been the question, yeah. If he’d cared half as much as he said he did, he would have been asking himself that. And sometimes I’d actually realize how selfish he was being, had always been, really, and I’d swear I was going to leave him, but I’d already given up my room in the old apartment and I’d cut back my shifts at the restaurant and the idea of really getting out, finding a way to make it on my own, seemed so overwhelming.”

“So what changed?”

“Spock showed up.” A small smile appears on Nyota’s face. “I’d never told him that I’d moved. I guess the fact that I didn’t want him to know about my new arrangements should have been a sign, but we were talking less by then anyway. But then the school year ended and Spock got on a plane to New York and one of my old roommates must have give him my new address because one night there he was, just standing on my doorstep. So I let him in.”

“So you realized Spock was the one you really wanted?”

“Well, not only,” Nyota says. “It was more like seeing Spock again, having him to talk to and watching him listen…. It reminded me of the person I used to be. Of the girl who picked up and moved to New York because, even though she (and her parents) _liked_ linguistics, she knew she _loved_ dance. Of the girl who wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop her. And that’s when I knew I could put that year of my life behind me and go back to making things work. For me. And if Spock and I could be together again after he graduated, that would be great, but either way I needed to go back to pursuing my dreams.” Nyota pauses there, then shrugs. “So anyway, there it is.”

“I…um…wow,” Jim says, still processing. “I mean, I had no idea.”

“Yeah,” Nyota says. “I guess I just wanted you to know you’re not alone. You don’t have to be the kind of person who goes looking for this stuff, sometimes it just finds you. And it’s so easy to lose perspective. Just…be careful, Jim, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Jim looks away, blinking at the sudden moisture in his eyes. “Aw, come on,” he teases, voice soft, “you love to see me suffer.”

Nyota’s comeback is equally soft. “Only when I’m the one making you squirm.”

Jim looks at her again and smiles. “Seriously, though, thanks for telling me all this. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

Nyota shrugs off the thanks. “Well, seemed like a worthy cause.”

It feels like a moment. Jim leans toward Nyota on the couch, then pauses, looking at her askance.

“Oh fine,” she mutters, “come here.”

And then Jim finds himself wrapped in a wonderful hug and reluctant to let go.

Also, Nyota smells really nice.

“Kirk? Are you sniffing me?”

“Sorry about that,” Jim says.

But he gives it another minute before he lets go.

 

 

The next morning, they both walk Jim to his car to see him off.

There’s another round of hugs.

Jim throws his overnight bag in the backseat.

“You only have thirty-four days left in the McCoy’s employ and the family will be vacationing for fifteen of them,” Spock tells him. “I am confident that this is a duration you can successfully endure.”

Jim pauses with his hand on the driver’s door handle. _Is it really only nineteen days?_

When he looks back over he catches Nyota withdrawing the elbow she’s clearly just jammed into Spock’s side. She quickly turns the motion into an elegant wave.

“Drive safely!” she says.


	9. Chapter 9

_Nineteen days_.

The number echoes in Jim’s head all the way to Connecticut.

Nine days from when he gets back this afternoon to when the McCoy’s leave on vacation (taking Gaila with them).

Fifteen days where Jim can either have the house to himself (Sulu’s heading to San Francisco to see his parents) or fly back to Iowa to see Winona (Jim’s been waffling on that one).

And then just ten days to help get Joanna ready for a new year of school. Jim’s classes start before hers, but he’ll keep working with her in the mornings and commute to the university in the afternoons when necessary.

After that, it’s back to his shithole apartment to finish his coursework and his thesis. And in the spring, his internship. He’ll meet Gaila for drinks, of course. And maybe Hikaru, too, now. Hell, maybe he’ll sleep with one or both again once they’re no longer coexisting in relatively close quarters.

So that’ll be good.

But Bones, Jocelyn and Joanna he’ll see not at all.

Jim supposes that will be good, too.

Honestly, he’ll probably miss them all a little, but maybe the whole situation was never really sustainable. Maybe he knew that even back when the three of them were standing in Jocelyn’s study and Jim was staring down at the offer he knew he couldn’t refuse.

So, yeah, things may be awkward now, but hey, _nineteen days_.

You can put up with almost anything for nineteen days.

 

 

You can also _hide_ almost anything for nineteen days, Jim realizes as he drives through New Haven. And what Jocelyn and Joanna never know can’t really hurt them.

The truth will out and all that, but mostly that’s when people get greedy and don’t know when to stop. It’s not like Jim’s trying to steal Bones away from his family or anything. Jim’s never been much for the long term. It’s not exactly ‘Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’ – more like a steady stream of fuck buddies accented by mutually agreeable one-night stands – but it ain’t holding hands and skipping through the daisies either.

Jim likes people.

Jim likes having fun.

Jim figured out at the age of fifteen that the most fun two (or more) people can have is usually had without their clothes on.

And Jim meets people he likes all the time. Well enough, anyway. Things work until they don’t and then they go their separate ways.

And yeah, maybe it’s been hell not seeing Bones this past week or so, but that’s only because Jim hasn’t had quite enough time to get Bones out of his system.

Nineteen days should definitely do it.

 

 

Somewhere around Manchester, Jim sees a billboard with a girl on it whose smile reminds him of Joanna’s and realizes he’s being a stupid, selfish bastard.

Where does he get off making this whole thing about him?

 

 

Somewhere around Worchester, Jim decides to make the whole thing about Bones.

Bones, who is so obviously lonely.

Bones, who rarely even speaks to Jocelyn and definitely doesn’t _talk_ to her.

Bones, who looked more at home dressed like a gardener than dressed for one of Jocelyn’s elite dinner parties (which he misses half the time anyway).

Bones, who loves his daughter and is too good a man to leave his family.

Bones, who works crazy hours and probably can’t be bothered to set up a regular affair like most people.

It’s sad, really.

Almost tragic.

Jim could make himself convenient.

Truly, it’s the _least_ Jim could do.

Doesn’t every good doctor deserve a few house calls of his own?

 

 

When Jim walks into the McCoy house that afternoon, things are pretty quiet. He heads to the kitchen first, out of habit, opening the fridge for a bottle of water while nodding hello to a chopping Hikaru.

Hikaru pops his headphones out and smiles at Jim. “Hey, man. Welcome back.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much.” Hikaru gives him a speculative look. “What about you? You took off awfully fast on Friday.”

Jim shrugs. “Just felt like getting away. Visited some friends in Brooklyn.” He looks around. “Where is everybody anyway?”

Hikaru turns back to his chopping, knife flying. “Gaila has the day off. Jocelyn took Jo shopping. And I think Doctor McCoy’s out in the pool doing laps.”

“Huh.” Jim nods, looking off in the direction of the pool. “You know, I could really go for a swim,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Summer in New York always feels so…grimy.”

The knife stops. Hikaru looks over his shoulder at Jim. “You’re going to go swimming? Now? _With_ Doctor McCoy?”

Jim scoffs. “Of course not,” he says, trying to sound like the idea holds no appeal whatsoever. “I’m going to wait until he gets out.”

Hikaru examines Jim for another couple of seconds before the knife starts back up. “Sure, man. Whatever.”

Jim goes upstairs to change.

 

And Jim _does_ wait for Bones to get out.

He waits poolside.

Stretched out on a lounger.

In only his swim trunks.

With his sunglasses on, it’s easy to watch Bones. To see the strength of his stroke, to measure the motion of his muscles, to watch the water wash over that beautiful body.

Jim’s own body tightens with anticipation as he sees Bones’ movements slowing, as Bones’ fingers reach out for the pool’s edge, as his head surfaces.

With as close attention as Jim is paying, it’s easy to pinpoint the exact second that Bones becomes aware of Jim’s presence. Jim lifts his sunglasses, ready for their eyes to meet…

And then that bastard ducks back under the water and starts a new lap.

It’s impressive, really – the number of additional laps Bones is able to manage in the name of avoiding Jim. But given how relatively easy it is for Jim to lounge in wait, the man really doesn’t stand a chance. Finally, Bones stops again at the edge and this time lifts himself out of the pool.

Jim leaves his sunglasses down for the moment and feigns nonchalance as he begins a full and very thorough application of sunscreen.

“Afternoon, Bones,” Jim chirps cheerfully, before Bones can even think about just walking by. Jim brushes a hand over his pecs and down to his abs – just to make sure the last of the sunscreen is absorbed, of course.

“Jim,” Bones says, voice sounding tight.

Keeping his eyes on Bones, Jim twists an arm back behind his body. “You know, there’s this little spot in the middle of my back that I can’t quite…”

And there goes eyebrow that Jim enjoys so much. “Are you kidding me?”

“Skin cancer is no laughing matter, Bones.”

Bones doesn’t rise to the bait. “Guess you’d better get inside, then,” he says and starts to turn towards the house.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my weekend was?” Jim asks.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Totally awesome,” Jim supplies, leaving just enough space between each syllable for Bones’ imagination to read volumes. Once Jim gets the scowl he was fishing for, he lifts his sunglasses to meet Bones’ gaze and lets his own half-leer melt into a smoother smile. “I visited my old college roommate and his girlfriend in Brooklyn. It was good to get away, see some familiar faces.”

Bones’ scowl fades. “Yeah,” he admits, “I suppose it would be. Anyway, I guess I’ll see you—”

“While I was there, I realized something,” Jim cuts in, sitting forward and keeping his eyes locked with Bones’.

“Jim…” Bones warns, casting a significant glance towards the house.

“I realized,” Jim continues carefully, “that I don’t have much time left here…with Joanna. Just nineteen days, actually, and I want to make sure I use it wisely. So I just thought I’d let you know that if there’s anything – anything at all – you’d like me to, um, _go over_ – you know, something I’ve already done that you think I should review or something new you wanted to see my try – I am, as they say, at your disposal.” Jim gives a small shrug and a quirk of his lips. “You know, until I leave here to go back to the city and none of you ever see me again. Ever.”

Bones looks at Jim for a long moment. He nods slowly a couple of times, swallows like maybe his mouth’s gone dry. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

 

 

Jim does go for a swim afterwards.

He’s got a sudden need to cool off and a hell of a lot of nervous tension to burn.

 

 

Jim means to wait for a signal.

He means to give Bones time to think things over, to weigh the risks. After all, he’s made himself more than clear at this point and he doesn’t want to do anything to make things awkward.

Well, _more_ awkward.

Of course, the truth is, things have been awkward in the McCoy home since Jim got here – since before that, probably – and even if he doesn’t make things worse, at this point there’s probably no way to make them better.

It is what it is.

And Jim’s never been good at waiting.

He decides he’s had enough of staring at flashing cursor and shuts his laptop, pushing back from his desk. He takes a look in the mirror and a deep breath and heads downstairs.

What’s he got to lose, anyway? May as well be damned for a sheep as for a lamb.

 

 

Jim opens the door to McCoy’s study without bothering to knock. Bones is in his usual position, sitting behind the wide mahogany desk with a medical journal in front of him and a glass of bourbon ready to hand.

Jim leans his body against the door jamb and waits for Bones to look up.

When Bones does look up, he doesn’t meet Jim’s gaze. He makes a slow, full survey of Jim’s body instead, starting at Jim’s bare feet, moving up Jim’s legs (clad in his oldest, softest jeans), lingering where the worn denim curves, clinging to Jim’s cock. The survey continues over the ribbed gray cotton of Jim’s tank top and Jim wonders if the good doctor can detect the pounding in Jim’s chest.

Finally, Bones reaches Jim’s eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Jim doesn’t move. “Then tell me to leave.”

Bones doesn’t speak. He picks up his bourbon and takes a sip.

“Or,” Jim says, pushing off the door jamb and stepping into the room, “you could invite me in for a drink.” He shuts the door behind himself and locks it.

“I only have one glass,” Bones says, his fingers still wrapped around it.

Jim smirks and begins to stalk towards the desk. “I’ll make do.”

He comes to a stop in front of the desk, straight across from Bones. He reaches out, his fingertips brushing against Bones’ as he pulls the crystal tumbler from Bones’ hand. Jim studies the rim, slowly rotating the glass half a turn. When he lifts it to his mouth, his lips close over the exact same spot where Bones’ lips had been.

He tilts the glass back and empties it, his throat working.

It burns, but not half as much as Bones’ eyes.

Jim sets the glass back down on the desk. “Pour us another,” he says.

Bones pours as Jim circles around the desk, trailing his fingertips along its edge. He stops by Bones’ side, sliding the medical journal out of the way before hopping up to sit on the desk. He scoots over until he’s positioned right in front of Bones, spreading his legs so that they fall on either side on Bones’ knees.

Jim reaches over and picks up the refilled tumbler. He lifts it to his lips, but tilts it back too steeply, sending bourbon splashing down his chin and chest, staining his tank top.

“Whoops,” Jim says, without a hint of regret, “guess I better take this off.” He crosses his arms and grasps the hem of the tank top, yanking it over his head.

“Damn shame,” Bones murmurs, eyes locked on Jim’s collar bone. He reaches up and wipes away a drop of bourbon there with his finger. He brings the finger back and slides it between his lips, giving a soft hum of appreciation.

Jim’s breath catches in his chest. He tilts his head to bare the other side of his neck to Bones’ scrutiny. “I think you missed a spot.”

“Can’t have that,” Bones whispers, words thick and sweet like honey.

But this time he doesn’t reach out his hand. He rises from his chair instead, curling strong fingers around Jim’s biceps to hold him in place as he leans in and licks a long, slow stripe along Jim’s collarbone and up the side of his neck tracing the bourbon’s path in reverse.

The tickle of the rough tongue sends shivers skating over Jim’s skin and it’s like the spark inside a powder keg.

Suddenly Bones’ fingers are digging into Jim’s flesh and Jim’s legs are locked around Bones’ hips and the inches still between them seem excruciating, unbearable. Their lips crash together, too hard, too wet and uneven.

Absolutely perfect.

Jim’s fingers scratch at Bones’ back, scrabbling for the hem of his shirt, tugging and shoving it upwards. Bones breaks their kiss and bats Jim’s hands away, pulling the shirt the rest of the way off and tossing it aside with an impatient growl, like the whole thing is nothing but an unnecessary distraction.

Jim expects him to go back to the kissing, but apparently that’s no longer Bones’ primary focus. The fingers at Jim’s fly are fast and efficient, barely brushing against Jim’s cock before sliding around and under the waistband at the back of his briefs, slipping them out from under Jim in one smooth motion and taking his jeans with them.

Jim has no idea why he never fucked a doctor before Bones, but he’s pretty sure he’ll go looking for one once he’s back in the city.

Jim unlocks his ankles from the small of Bones’ back and Bones steps away for one or two of the most excruciating seconds in order to pull Jim’s jeans and underwear the rest of the way off. Then Bones is tossing his jeans aside and Jim thinks maybe there’s some reason he ought to stop Bones from doing this, but the wood of the desk is smooth and cool against his bare ass and Bones is stepping back in close, forcing Jim’s legs wide around his thighs, and it’s really hard to care about remembering.

Especially with Bones’ fingertips tracing the head of Jim’s cock while he deftly opens his own fly with just the one free hand.

Jim reaches out to help, or maybe just to touch, but suddenly Bones’ hands disappear, reappearing tight around Jim’s hips. With one sharp tug, Jim’s hips are pulled the very edge of the desk. His upper body is forced backwards and he just barely manages to catch himself on his elbows before his back hits the desk. The air whooshes from Jim’s lungs and he laughs, a short, breathless sound, letting his head fall back, not needing to see.

More than happy just to feel.

He feels Bones’ hands come to rest on his knees, which are up in the air, spread, with Bones standing between them.

He feels Bones’ hand sliding under his right calf, lifting it high until it comes to rest against Bones’ shoulder.

He feels exposed.

It feels amazing.

Bones fingers are trailing down the underside of Jim’s left thigh and it tickles in the best way, but just before they get anywhere really interesting, they stop.

Bones lets out a string of curses to make a sailor proud.

Jim lifts his head and has to laugh at the look of pure, unadulterated frustration on Bones’ face.

Also, he remembers the thing about the jeans.

“In my pocket,” he manages between chuckles. “Front one.”

Jim’s laughter doesn’t seem to be doing a whole lot for Bones’ mood, but he does extract himself from Jim’s legs and go to pick up the jeans off the floor.

Jim pushes himself back up into a sitting position and watches as Bones gets a hand into the front pocket. It comes back out with a condom and a small tube of lubricant.

Bones looks over at Jim. “You…I can’t believe you actually…”

Jim just smirks. “I’m a teacher, Bones. You really think I wouldn’t have learned my lesson?”

Bones hesitates, and for a second Jim thinks that bringing up the last time has ruined the moment. Jim starts to scoot forward off the desk, bare toe reaching for the floor, but then the heat flares again in Bones eyes and he gets that look, like there’s something that needs doing and, by God, he’s gonna do it right.

As the thing about to be done, Jim decides this is his new favorite look.

“What I _think_ ,” Bones says slowly, “is that no one told you you could move.”

Jim scoots back onto the desk more fully, smirk back in place. “Well, then _I_ think maybe you should get back over here and put me exactly where you want me.”

Bones accepts this challenge.

He puts Jim back on his back. He puts Jim’s leg back on his shoulder. He puts one and then two dexterous fingers up Jim’s ass and moves them in ways that make sparks flash in front of Jim’s eyes.

He puts on the condom and then proceeds to put a good percentage of Jim’s previous fucks to shame.

And when Jim proceeds to whimper and moan, Bones just puts the fingers of his non-lubed hand into Jim’s mouth to keep him quiet before putting things into overdrive.

He has Jim at exactly the right height.

He has Jim at exactly the right angle.

He has a punishing pace and a damn decent sense of rhythm.

And before long he has Jim arching back and coming all over his own stomach and chest.

(A bit of Jim’s come may also land on Bones’ desk, but by that time Bones’ own orgasm is hitting and afterwards, for once, Bones can’t seem to find it in himself to complain.)


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey! Wha—?” Jim blurts as he’s yanked out of the upstairs hallway and into one of the less-used guest bathrooms.

At this point, though, he really shouldn’t be that surprised. Bones has developed a habit of snatching Jim from any isolated spot at any free moment and having his wicked way with him.

Not that Jim’s complaining.

Also…

“You do this on purpose, you little bastard,” Bones mutters against Jim’s lips as he fumbles behind Jim’s back for the lock on the door.

Jim pushes Bones back for a moment and offers a smile that is the very definition of cheeky. “What? Swim? Just because it’s hot out and I like to get some exercise…”

“What you _like_ is walking around in these goddamn indecent trunks of yours.” Trunks Bones already has untied and is working one hand down the back of…

“It’s a perfectly normal bathing suit.”

“It’s _wet_ ,” Bones growls, like that wins the argument.

Which maybe it does, since the item under debate is now lying on the floor around Jim’s ankles.

“Not that I’m not enjoying our witty repartee,” Jim begins, “but shouldn’t you be—?”

Before Jim can finish his sentence, Bones has Jim spun around and bent over the vanity, palms pressed against the mirror. Bones’ own palm is pressing down on the center of Jim’s back and, yeah, it’s distinctly possible that this is exactly what Jim was asking for when he timed his swim for the minute Jocelyn carted Joanna off for a last-minute pre-vacation shopping trip.

And when he headed back upstairs without bothering to let his shorts dry first.

If Jim were thinking about things, he might notice that passing thoughts of Jocelyn and Joanna no longer carry feelings of guilt. Sure, he’s kept on avoiding Jocelyn, but when he does see her, his heart doesn’t race. If he needs to talk to her about Jo’s tutoring, he doesn’t have to do it around a lump in his throat.

He’s compartmentalizing.

When he’s with Jo, he doesn’t much think about Bones. And when he’s with Bones, Joanna’s nothing more than a logistical concern. Is she out of the house? Has she had time to fall asleep? Jim operates with a constant awareness of who is or isn’t in the vicinity and exactly how occupied each person is.

It’s like he’s developed a sixth sense. Protection for himself and for Bones. He really doesn’t want them to get caught.

But, god help him, he kind of loves the fact that they could be.

Jim may have overestimated the guilt he would feel, but he underestimated the thrill.

It makes sense, in retrospect. The force of his ill-advised desire for this forbidden man, the breathtaking heat of their reckless encounters – they remind Jim of nothing so much as the racing of his heart and the wind in his hair as he tore down one of Riverside’s empty dirt roads in the shiny red convertible that would never be his no matter how it called it him.

Did he was heading for that cliff? Was he certain he’d be able to jump in time? Not really. He only knew that for once – _finally_ – he felt alive.

He only knew he had to chase the feeling for as long as he could, hold on to every last second, and hope that it wouldn’t end with his broken body at the bottom of the ravine.

They made him see a shrink after that.

It took him almost a year to convince everyone he was cured.

And another eight years to believe it himself.

Less than two months with Bones to ruin it all.

If Jim were thinking about things, he might wonder if this says something awful about who he is, deep down inside.

But Jim isn’t thinking right now.

Not at all.

Because somehow Bones is capable of keeping two fingers up Jim’s ass even as he puts on a condom.

“Oh fuck,” Jim groans, the heat of his breath making a small patch of fog on the vanity mirror. “Oh yeah, fuck.”

A couple of days ago Bones happened to discover that Jim likes things just on the tight and dry side of fully stretched and prepped. He’s been taking ruthless advantage of that knowledge ever since.

Jim couldn’t be more grateful.

“Yeah, god.” Jim’s panting heavily against the mirror now, bearing down against the burning fullness as Bones pushs deeper, slow but steady.

Bones leans down over Jim’s back to put his lips next to Jim’s ear. “Shhh,” he says. “Anyone could hear us.”

Jim shivers at the thought and Bones chuckles softly. Apparently, he’s also cottoned to the fact that Jim gets off on the danger of it all.

Not that Jim wouldn’t get off anyway, just from the fact that Bones really knows how to use his dick, not to mention his hips…

But still.

“Ungh,” Jim grunts as Bones’ latest thrust lands just right. “Can’t…can’t…”

Well, can’t finish his sentence for one thing, but Bones seems to get the gist of it because next thing he knows, one of those big, strong doctor’s hands that Jim loves so much is clamped over Jim’s mouth, muffling sounds that are only increasing with the way it feels to be pinned and silenced, forced to take everything Bones has to give.

“Go ahead, darlin’. Go ahead and scream. No one’s gonna hear you now. No one’s gonna know just how fucking much you love my cock splitting you open and tearing you apart.”

 _Oh shit._ Jim never would have taken Bones for such a dirty talker, but _damn_ does it feel like hitting the jackpot.

Bones uses the hand clamped over Jim’s mouth to pull Jim into a more upright position, then reaches down and around with his free hand to get a tight, slick hold on Jim’s dick. His thrusts are shallower now, no longer hitting that sweet spot, but the friction on Jim’s dick is more than making up for it.

And once you add the words…

“You’re right there, aren’t you, darlin’? Come on, Jim. Wanna hear you grunting against my hand and know that you’re calling out my name.”

Jim comes hard all over the faucet fixtures and a little against the vanity mirror.

Bones lets go of Jim’s mouth and Jim’s dick and Jim slumps back over the vanity. Bones grabs hold of Jim’s hips and gets in several sharp, deep thrusts that make Jim’s oversensitive nerve endings spark and tingle in ways that are wonderful and too much all at the same time.

Then Bones stiffens, yanking Jim’s poor, abused body up one last time so that Bones can muffle his own cries by biting into Jim’s shoulder.

“Ow, fuck,” Jim mutters.

“Sorry,” Bones grumbles back breathlessly as he pulls out and starts to dispose of the condom.

He really doesn’t sound like he means it.

Jim rolls his eyes as he looks down at the mess in front of him. He is so making Bones clean that shit up.

 

 

 _Paging Dr. McDreamy_.

Jim grins as he hits send on the text message. He sits, listening to the radio until he hears the answering _ping_.

_Infant._

_Paging Dr. McDreamy_ , Jim types again. _Please report to level P3. Stat._

The reply comes only seconds later. _You’re here?_

 _Waiting in my car_ , Jim confirms, hitting send and immediately beginning another message

 _Please, Dr._ Send.

 _It’s a medical emergency._ Send.

_In my pants._

Jim grins at his own joke as he hits send and waits.

 _You’re ridiculous._ Jim can practically see the roll of Bones’ eyes.

_So I’ll see you in 5, then?_

A few minutes go by and Jim doesn’t get a response. He starts to wonder if Bones has some sort of professional line that Jim just crossed.

 _Hey_ , he starts to type…

The passenger door opens, startling Jim. He glances at the dashboard clock. It’s only been four minutes. Jim grins like a cat with yellow feathers caught in his teeth.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bones grumbles, taking a glance at the backseat of the two-door, which Jim has folded down to make a larger flat surface.

“Aw, come on,” Jim says. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Not in that back seat.”

“So it’s a tight space.” Jim leers. “I bet I know another tight space you’re dying to get into…”

Jim’s grin returns when Bones grumbles unintelligibly but folds the passenger seat down and climbs into the back. Jim knows this is going to be awesome.

Hell, he even brought them a blanket.

And, yeah, okay, so Jim accidentally elbows Bones in the kidney and nearly crushes his hand with one knee while crawling from the front to the back, but they’ll totally get the hang of things in a minute.

They do get the hang of things in a minute.

For a minute.

After that, Jim hits his funny bone on the sunroof, nearly banishing his orgasm for good.

Still, Bones coaxes it back to life.

Of course, when it finally comes, Jim bangs his head hard against the window of the hatchback, nearly knocking himself unconsciousness.

“It’s possible,” Jim admits, fighting back a dizzy spell, “that adventure is overrated.”

Bones shakes his head and checks Jim’s pupils for signs of concussion. “Next time,” he says, “we’ll do it in the sixth floor supply closet like everybody else.”

_Next time?_

The smile returns to Jim’s face.

 

 

But the reality is that they’re running out of next times.

It’s their second to last night together and Bones doesn’t make it home from the hospital when planned.

He doesn’t make it an hour after planned.

He doesn’t make it two hours after planned.

At midnight, almost five hours after planned, Jim turns off the X-Box and drags himself to bed.

He lies there with his head on the pillow, but he doesn’t fall asleep. Jim knows that it shouldn’t matter – that Bones is a doctor and that doctors don’t control their own schedules – but the McCoys go on vacation the day after tomorrow and then that’s it.

He and Bones have agreed that that’ll be the end. Once Jocelyn’s no longer distracted with travel preparations, things will be more dangerous and they know better than to push their luck.

Besides, Jim plans to use the enforced separation. Sheer unavailability beats the hell out of willpower every time, and Jim plans to quit Bones the same way he quit cigarettes.

Cold turkey.

 

Sometime around 1:30 a.m. when Jim’s finally fallen half asleep with the light still on, he swears he hears something like footsteps outside his door. His eyes blink open and he listens hard, but there’s no further sound.

He turns off the light, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

 

 

When Jim starts down the stairs the next morning, he passes Gaila and Joanna on their way up. Gaila looks worried. Joanna looks…confused and little like she’s being dragged. Jim makes his way into the kitchen with a frown on his face only to find Hikaru working very quietly, Ipod abandoned on the counter and pots making none of their usual clang.

Jim opens his mouth to ask Hikaru what’s up, but Hikaru lifts a quick finger to own his mouth in the international sign for _Shut the fuck up!_

Jim’s mouth snaps shut, but he signals his confusion with some choice contortions of his face while he (quietly) pours some fresh-squeezed orange juice from its pitcher into a glass.

With all the silence, he can hear the sound of low conversation coming from the dining room, but he can’t make out any of the words….

Until suddenly he can hear them all too well.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Len? We’re leaving tomorrow!”

Bones’ reply is too low to make out.

“I _expect_ you to tell them ‘no,’” Jocelyn snaps. “I _expect_ us to have a fucking family vacation like a normal fucking family.”

Bones’ voice seems to be gaining a bit of volume, but Jim still doesn’t catch any words.

It’s easy to guess, though.

“Oh, why? In case, Joanna hears? It’s not like she’s not going to know something’s wrong when we spend two goddamn weeks on a ‘family’ vacation without you. She’s a child, not an idiot.”

Jim and Hikaru exchange a look. At the same instant, they both dart across the room and plaster themselves – and their ears – against the kitchen door.

“It can’t be helped,” Bones is saying. “I’m sorry, Joce. I really am.”

“Of course you are,” Jocelyn says, but the words hold nothing of understanding. “You still care about not letting _her_ down.”

“I care about not letting the _family_ down,” Bones insists, and the sincerity in his words makes Jim’s heart clench in his chest. “But the hospital needs me. Without a neurosurgeon on call, we can’t take any emergency trauma cases.”

“There are other hospitals, Len.”

“And the couple of extra minutes it takes to get to one of them could mean the difference between life and death.”

“There are other doctors.”

“Not next week, there aren’t.” Bones’ sigh is so heavy, they can hear it all the way through the equally heavy door. “I wish you would try to understand.”

There’s a long moment of silence and Jim does and doesn’t wish he could see what’s happening in there.

When Jocelyn finally speaks, it’s so quiet Jim barely catches it. “Right back at you, Len.”

There’s another silence and then suddenly there are footsteps, and they’re on their way to the kitchen. Jim and Hikaru jump back from the door and try to make themselves look busy as the door swings open and Bones strides through.

He doesn’t look at Hikaru at all, but his gaze meets Jim’s for the briefest of seconds as he picks up his car keys…

And then he’s gone.

 

 

For all that Jim’s grown used to living in the middle of a cold war, the flare up of actual hostilities unsettles him.

He’s come to think of Bones and Jocelyn as co-existing.

It’s uncomfortable to remember that they’re _married_.

 

 

Of course, then there’s the other thing.

The fact that Bones isn’t leaving.

 

 

Jim spends the morning with Joanna giving her a few fun but educational projects that she’ll be able to undertake in her travel. He’s gone over them with Gaila already, but he wants to get Jo excited about them and to let her know how excited he’ll be to see her results.

He tries to focus.

He does focus.

But he can’t help the way the idea of tomorrow buzzes through his body, putting butterflies in his stomach and a bounce in his chest.

 

 

The evening finds Jim in the media room, back in front of the X-Box. Hikaru and Gaila are packing for their respective departures in the morning.

Jim is playing Modern Warfare.

There’s a ticket to the Eastern Iowa Airport sitting on his desk.

Sometime around eleven Bones appears in the doorway. Jim looks up and their gazes meet and hold for a moment.

Jim looks down and sees the second wireless controller sitting on the couch beside him. He picks it up and tosses it to Bones.

 

“How is that you’re totally kicking my ass right now?” Jim asks half an hour later.

“Because you’re not very good?” Bones suggests.

“Dick,” Jim mutters. “But, seriously, when does an up-and-coming neurosurgeon find time to play something as frivolous as video games?”

“Yeah,” Bones agrees. “Why _would_ anyone studying to operate on people’s brains possibly choose to relax by doing something proven to increase hand-eye coordination?”

“Dick,” Jim says, one more, with feeling.

He lets Bones kick his ass for a few more minutes before speaking again.

“So,” Jim begins, not looking away from the screen, “guess you’re not leaving on vacation after all.”

“You were listening at the door, weren’t you?”

“Didn’t need to,” Jim says, hoping Bones won’t notice it’s not a denial. He glances over at Bones out of the corner of his eye, but Bones is keeping his gaze on the screen, too.

“The hospital needs a neurosurgeon on call to keep it’s classification as a trauma center. It was supposed to be Cortez, but she managed to break her wrist playing street ball, so she won’t exactly be up for brain surgery for another six-to-eight weeks.”

“Right,” Jim says.

“What about you?” Bones sounds totally casual. “Got any plans for your time off?”

Jim shrugs. “Booked a ticket back to Iowa. Thought I might pay Winona a visit.”

“Winona?”

“My mom.”

“Oh,” Bones says.

They play on for a minute or two.

“Was thinking about skipping it, though. Winona and I have a…complicated relationship.”

“Won’t she be upset about you cancelling at the last minute?”

“Nah,” Jim says. “She won’t even know the difference.”

This time, Bones actually turns to look at Jim, but Jim keeps his gaze straight ahead. “C’mon, Jim, she’s your mother. I’m sure she cares about seeing you.”

“No, I mean she literally won’t know the difference. I didn’t tell her I was coming.”

Jim does glance at Bones then. Bones looks confused.

“But…I mean…Wouldn’t you want to…?” Bones seems to flounder for a moment before settling on, “Who was going to pick you up at the airport?”

Jim laughs. “I was going to rent a car and drive to Riverside. Trust me, the place is a lot more tolerable when you know you can leave under your own power at any moment. Besides, I find that Winona and I do a lot better when we don’t go into things with too many expectations.” Jim shrugs again. “When she’s not expecting me, she can’t really expect anything from me.”

Bones takes a moment to chew on this. “Well, that’s…”

“Fucked up,” Jim finishes. “Yeah, I know. But it works.”

They turn their eyes back to the screen again.

“Maybe you should go,” Bones says.

Jim doesn’t answer right away.

“So,” he says, after a minute, “your hospital only has two neurosurgeons?”

“Three, actually.”

“Where’s the other one?”

“Ahn. He just left for a golf tournament in Hawaii.”

“Just?” Jim asks.

“Yesterday.”

“And when did Cortez break her arm again?”

“Wrist,” Bones says slowly. “And day before yesterday.”

“So, Cortez breaks her wrist two days ago,” Jim recaps, putting it all together. “You and Ahn are both scheduled for vacation, but now one of you has to stay. Your boss calls you both into the office, maybe she’s about to flip a coin, and…?”

Bones’ voice is low and husky and it sends tingles up Jim’s spine. “And I tell Ahn he’d better get his ass on that plane before I change my mind.”

“Maybe I should stay,” Jim says.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning is hectic. Jocelyn spends nearly an hour just wandering around the house, rechecking her several lists to make sure everything is in order – while slowly driving everyone crazy.

Meanwhile, Joanna is in her room pouting about going to the Hamptons without her father. Bones is in there with her trying desperately to cheer her up by reminding her that she’ll see her grandparents there and promising several coveted father-daughter outings for when she returns. Gaila is doing her best to get Joanna ready to leave while Joanna does her best to keep from being ready to leave.

Jim tries to help Gaila out for a few minutes, but the guilt is starting to get to him, so he heads to the kitchen where Hikaru, having just been stood up by a “friend,” begs Jim to give him a ride to Logan. Jim agrees like a decent guy, only to have Hikaru start in on an extensive lecture about the proper and improper use of his kitchen and its utensils.

Jim checks the time on his phone. “Aren’t we going to be late?”

“Counters are for food prep,” Hikaru is saying, “and in food prep, cleanliness is next to godliness.”

“Do you even believe in God?” Jim asks.

“ _So_ ,” Hikaru continues, “and let me make this very clear – you’d better not even think of putting your or anybody else’s naked ass anywhere near them.”

“Oh, come on,” Jim says. “Who would I even…?”

Hikaru rolls his eyes and opens his mouth.

“ _Rhetorical_ ,” Jim says quickly. “Answer it and you’ll be hitchhiking to the airport.”

Hikaru thinks this one over for a good few seconds, but finally relents. “Alright,” he says, shaking a stern finger, “but you’ve warned.”

“C’mon,” Jim says, “you don’t want to miss your flight.”

Jim and Hikaru run upstairs to get Hikaru’s bag and say goodbye to Gaila and Joanna. Bones is still in there, but Jim avoids making eye contact. Even without it, he can feel the tension like a rubber band stretched tight between them.

_“So, wanna go to your office?” Jim asked last night after they’d given up any pretense of playing Modern Warfare._

_“Yes,” Bones answered without hesitation. Jim started to smile. “But I can’t.” Jim’s smile disappeared. “Joce and I’ll need to go over a few things before she leaves.”_

_And there it was again, like a big, stupid elephant lumbering after them into every room: Marriage._

_“Right,” Jim said._

_“You know where I’d rather be,” Bones promised. “Besides, in less than twelve hours we’ll have this whole place to ourselves.”_

_“Yeah,” Jim said._

_It was crazy, but god, did it sound amazing. So amazing that he kind of wanted to celebrate right the fuck then, but…_

_“I swear to you, I’ll make it worth the wait.”_

Which has only made the wait that much harder.

Jim flees the room.

 

Jim makes it back from Logan just as the driver for the car service Jocelyn has hired is loading the last of their luggage into the back. Jim waves at everyone and then heads inside, leaving Bones to see his family off.

Jim is sitting the kitchen when Bones reappears some fifteen minutes later. Jim looks up and their eyes meet.

“Hi,” Bones says.

Jim smiles. “Hi.”

They just stare at each other for a moment.

“Everyone make it off safely?” Jim asks.

“Yeah.” Bones nods. “You get Hikaru to the airport?”

“Yep.” Jim nods back. “Should be in the air on his way to San Fran about now.”

“Right.”

“So…” Jim says, taking a step forward.

“So…” Bones repeats, taking a step of his own.

“I, um… I mean, I guess maybe someone might have forgotten something...”

Bones stops. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Jim’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips and he watches Bones’ eyes follow the movement.

“We could, um, have some breakfast or something,” Jim suggests.

“Yeah.”

They work together to toast some bagels, which they spread with cream cheese. They eat them in silence, sitting on stools at the kitchen island.

Jim pulls out his phone and checks the time. “Been a while,” he says.

Bones nods. “Don’t suppose they’d turn around now.”

Jim licks his lips again and slides of his stool. “So I guess we could…”

Bones slides off his own stool, leaving them standing just inches apart. “We definitely could,” he says, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Wanna go upstairs?”

Jim’s about to say yes, but remembers Hikaru’s warning and reconsiders.

He circles the island slowly, reaching down to catch the hem of his tee shirt and pull it over his head. Tossing it away, he leans back against the counter, posing for a moment before lifting himself up onto its edge.

“Nah.” He spreads his legs wide and beckons for Bones. “Let’s stay here.”

 

 

 

Afterwards, they do go upstairs, and Bones lead Jim into a room Jim’s only heard rumors of before. A mythical room people from the cleaning service sometimes spoke of in hushed tones. A modern-day Shangri-la that always sounded a little too good to be true. The moment he steps inside, however, Jim knows that the master bathroom is totally going to live up to its hype.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

Because Jim’s showered with people before and he’s always had fun. The sensuality of the steam, the slickness of the skin, the slip-slide of the soap, hell, just the sexiness of the scenario – it never fails to get him going.

The reality of the physical logistics, though? Kinda puts a damper on the whole thing.

No pun intended.

So when he gets his first glimpse of the capacious master shower with its dual rainfall shower heads, assorted body jets, and actual honest-to-god bench, he knows he’s probably ruined for all other co-showering.

Like, for life.

Jim’s still standing and staring in awe when he feels a creeping warmth beneath his bare feet. “Holy shit,” he whispers again, “is that the floor?”

“Just turned it on,” Bones confirms.

“I may never move again,” Jim warns.

But it’s a lie.

After slowly stripping them both of their scant clothing, Bones steps into the shower and reaches out for Jim’s hand. Jim takes the hand and lets himself be pulled inside.

Bones pushes a series of buttons and suddenly they’re both surrounded by cascades of warm, gentle water and…

“Is that Elvis?”

Bones nods. “One of his gospel albums.”

Jim laughs as he steps closer to Bones and winds his arms around Bones’ neck. “Aren’t you just asking to be struck by lightning here?”

Bones slides his hands over Jim’s hips and around to cup Jim’s ass and pull him that much closer. “Praise comes in a variety of forms,” he murmurs against Jim’s lips.

Five minutes later, Jim finds himself (loudly) thanking the lord that more than one of those forms takes place on the knees.

It’s probably blasphemy.

 

 

“Okay,” Jim mumbles, “now I’m _really_ not going to move.”

The water’s no longer running, but he’s still in the shower, half collapsed on the handy bench.

Bones is standing just outside the stall, smirking at Jim. “You’re gonna get cold,” he says. But there’s something in Bones’ look that gives lie to the statement, warming Jim from the inside out.

“If I do,” Jim slurs, “then I’ll just crawl over to the floor, be nice’n’toasty.” It sounds so nice that Jim’s considering doing it right now. He knows the warm tiles would feel awesome against his bare skin. He closes his eyes, but can still hear Bones’ deep chuckle.

“Don’t make me carry you.”

Jim cracks one eye back open. “Could you actually do that?” he asks. “Maybe put on that Southern accent of yours and say, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn’?”

Jim’s always thought he’d make a hell of a Scarlett.

Sadly, Bones does not seem to possess a secret hankering to be Rhett. He does not pick Jim up and carry him out of the shower. He does not recite that or any other famous movie line.

All Jim gets is a roll of the eyes and: “I’m gonna take my nap in a real bed. So unless you wanna catch a chill, you’d best be lifting your own sorry ass out of there and coming with. I’m turning off the floor on my way out.”

But at least he gets it in a Southern accent.

 

In the end, they find a compromise, with Bones half-hauling a wholly naked Jim from the bathroom, Jim’s arm over Bones’ shoulder, Bones’ arm around Jim’s waist.

They get out to the master bedroom and Bones pauses, looking at the bed.

“Hunh uh,” Jim says. “Too weird. My room?”

Still Bones hesitates.

And so, another compromise. They make their way down the hall and into the largest of the guest suites. Jim uses the last of his energy to shove about a thousand decorative pillows, neck rolls and Euro shams off onto the floor before crawling under the covers and passing out.

 

 

When Jim wakes up the first time, Bones is lying next to him.

Wide awake.

Reading a medical journal.

“You’re on vacation,” Jim points out.

“I know,” Bones says. “I’ve been dying to find time to take a closer look at this study. It’s really incredible. They’re working on this dural grafting technique that—”

“You’re disgusting,” Jim mutters before rolling over and going back to sleep.

 

The next time Jim wakes up, he’s alone. He gets out of bed, stretches a bit and then heads over to his own room to throw on some track pants. He’s not quite sure where his other pants ended up, but it’s nice to know that it doesn’t matter. Even the cleaning service has two weeks off.

Jim makes his way downstairs. He’s about to check for Bones in his study – real beach-reads, those medical journals – when he catches a whiff of something amazing and follows his nose to the kitchen instead.

The first thing Jim notices is that Bones looks hella hot in an apron.

The second thing is…

“You cook?”

The look on Bones’ face is smug. “I have a specialty or two.”

Jim takes in the tray of flour-coated chicken pieces sitting on the counter and the cast-iron skillet sitting on the stove and draws the only possible conclusion.

He can feel himself starting to salivate. “You’re making fried chicken.”

“Grandpa’s recipe,” Bones confirms. “Along with Grandma’s biscuits, Aunt Mimsy’s gravy, and Old Joe’s collards.”

Jim laughs. “You really are from the South.”

He can picture it, though, Bones and his whole extended family filling a large, warm kitchen with laughter and chatter and heavenly smells – and a good dose of Southern-style bitching. The thought makes Jim smile, though with more than a twinge of wistfulness.

Fortunately, Bones doesn’t notice.

“Born and bred,” he declares, disappearing into the pantry.

Jim continues to survey the counter. “Is that buttermilk?” He wonders if Sulu even knew this stuff was in his kitchen.

“Damn straight,” Bones calls back. “No sense in doing a thing if you ain’t gonna do it right.”

God damn, Jim never knew he had a thing for Southern men, but he knows now and if it weren’t for the fact that Jim is kind of starving and he really wants this chicken, he’d totally be on his knees in the pantry right now, tugging down Bones’ jeans, slipping his head up under that apron, and suck Bones’ brains straight out through his cock.

Jim’s still considering just how fast he thinks he could get Bones off and get him back to cooking the chicken when Bones reemerges with an item that Jim, in all the hours he’s spent in the McCoy kitchen, has never laid eyes on before: a big ol’ tub of Crisco.

Picking up a wooden spoon, Bones carves out an enormous dollop and plops it into the frying pan, then turns on the burner.

Jim watches wide-eyed. “Is this some sort of murder-suicide pact? I thought you took an oath to do no harm.”

“Shut your mouth, Jim. It doesn’t count.”

“Oh right,” Jim says, “the Fried Chicken Exception.”

Bones responds with a low growl (which really shouldn’t be so sexy except for the way that it reminds Jim of the last time they were in the kitchen together – five hours ago – and Bones was fucking Jim on/over/into the kitchen counter).

“You cleaned those counters, right?” Jim can’t help asking.

“You know,” Bones says, as he begins gently laying chicken pieces in the hot oil, filling the kitchen with the sound of sizzling, “Hikaru left plenty of fresh vegetables in the crisper. I’m sure you could make yourself a nice salad.”

“Bite your tongue,” Jim says, moving closer. “I _totally_ believe in the Fried Chicken Exception. What can I do to help?”

Bones looks Jim over and scowls. “Well, first off, put on a shirt before you get grease burns.”

“Yes, sir.” Jim finds his shirt from earlier draped over one of the island stools. “Now what?”

“Go fix me a drink.”

 

Since Bones clearly has no plans to allow Jim to assist beyond the drink-fetching, Jim decides to be the best drink-fetcher he can be. By which he means fetching the best drinks. By which he means pouring them both glasses of the most expensive thing he can find in the liquor cabinet that’s already open.

Which turns out to be that 1973 ‘Green Springbank’ Jim remembers seeing his first time in the McCoy mansion.

He guesses it’s poetic or some shit.

When he comes back, the lid is on the frying pan and Bones is pulling some amazing looking biscuits out of the oven. The collards are about to go on.

He hands Bones the glass without telling him what’s in it, but the color is unusual enough that Bones clearly recognizes it even before his first sip.

He takes the sip anyway, then looks across the island at Jim.

Jim looks back.

“Made yourself at home, did you?”

Jim shrugs. “Thought it might be a nice night to try something different.” He’s not going to call it an ‘occasion.’

Bones holds Jim’s gaze, then slowly lifts his glass and extends his arm.

Jim meets him halfway and their glasses clink together lightly. They both pull back and take slow sips.

They don’t say, ‘To us.’

 

 

They take their plates to the eating area out back. It’s a perfect summer evening, the worst heat of the day has passed, but Jim is still comfortable barefoot.

The food is amazing.

“This is amazing,” Jim says – well half-says really – around a mouthful of crispy chicken, fluffy biscuit and creamy gravy.

“Don’t talk with your mouthful,” grumbles the man who has no idea how to take a compliment.

Jim just smiles.

Bones smiles back.

 

 

With dinner ingested (if not digested), it seems only natural to retire to the hot tub.

They don’t bother going inside to get suits.

They’re sipping now on their third glasses of Springbank and Jim’s once again reminded of his first time in the McCoy house.

Inspired, he takes a small mouthful of Scotch and moves in close, straddling Bones’ legs. Bones leans up to meet Jim’s lips and the smoky, spicy flavors flow and curl between them. After a moment, Bones swallows the drink. Jim chases the last traces of it with his tongue.

They kiss lazily for long minutes, slow and deep, far too full for more at the moment.

Eventually, Jim pulls back, sliding off of Bones’ lap to retrieve his glass.

“So,” he says, “where’d you learn to cook so well? I mean, you say ‘Aunt Mimsy’s gravy’ and I get this image of you and like all these aunts and uncles and cousins, maybe some grandparents, or like a neighbor or two—”

“My people,” Bones suggests.

Jim chuckles. “Yeah, your ‘people.’ I get this image of you and your people bustling around a big, old-fashioned Southern kitchen, frying things up and tossing around strange Southernisms like on _Say Yes to the Dress Atlanta_.”

Bones raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, don’t judge me,” Jim says. “There was a marathon on the other day.”

Mercifully, Bones decides to let that one drop. “You got it mostly right, I guess. I was always shy, though. Folks’d wonder over and I’d steal my Daddy’s anatomy books and hide up in my room until the food was ready.”

“Aw,” Jim says.

Bones punches him in the shoulder. “Anyhow, Mama never made me come down. She loved my daddy, but I’m pretty sure she hated being the doctor’s wife. Never got a moment’s peace. Mimsy was over practically every day and she wasn’t even related to us. She was widowed young and she used to get lonely, I guess. Never bothered remarrying. Looking back, I wonder if she ever really wanted anything to do with men.”

Jim laughs. “‘Spinster aunt’?” he asks, making air quotes.

Bones smiles. “Something like that. So, one day when I’m about fifteen, I think, Mama calls me to the kitchen and tells me it’s time to teach me a thing or two. She says, ‘Son, handsome men are a dime a dozen, but good men are rare. Now, a good looking man who’s good on the inside _and_ knows how to cook? Ain’t no woman worth her salt gonna let you go once she’s found you.’ And then she spends the next year teaching me to cook all her best recipes.” Bones shrugs. “Don’t use it much these days, but I guess it stuck.”

Jim’s incredulity must show on his face.

“What?” Bones asks.

“I don’t know. It’s just…it’s like you grew up in a movie or something.”

“I’m guessing your mother never taught you to cook?”

Jim laughs. “I don’t think I even knew what the stove was _for_ until I was like ten. And that was probably just because my brother Sam learned to use it.”

“I’m sorry, Jim.”

Jim shrugs. “Mom wasn’t around much growing up and we didn’t really have ‘people.’ Sam and I kind of raised each other.”

“Well, you two must be close, then.”

Jim shrugs again. “We go back and forth, I guess. We’re good right now. He doesn’t see Winona at all, though. I think his wife sends her pictures of the kids.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Our dad died young,” Jim says, because he guesses it’s the best explanation. He tries to think of something lighter to ward off the impending silence. “Guess my life’s a little like a movie, too,” he says, shrugging. “Less happy Hollywood heart-warmer, more tragic indie angst-fest.”

Bones lifts his Scotch to his mouth and drains the rest in one swallow. “Problem with the Hollywood version,” he says softly, “is that once the hero grows up, everyone expects him to marry the girl and live happily ever after.”

Jim drains his own glass, stands up and reaches for Bones’ hand. “Let’s go to bed.”


	12. Chapter 12

They don’t get out much.

Every once in a while Bones does get called into the hospital, but most of the time he’s still on vacation, and so is Jim, and they hang out by the pool or in the media room, playing X-Box or watching movies like _Die Hard_ and _Lethal Weapon_ and all the Bonds from Connery to Craig.

They eat, they drink.

They fuck.

A lot.

In other words, they stay in.

Jim doesn’t mind much, at first. He uses the times Bones is at the hospital to work just enough on his thesis to stave off the worst of the guilt. The rest of the time, he gives himself over to hedonism. It’s almost a week before the first signs of stir-crazy set in.

Apparently, he’s not the only one.

Bones got called in early, but he’s back now, and rummaging around the kitchen for a late lunch.

“What’re these?” Jim asks, stepping closer to examine the printer pages Bones just set down on the kitchen counter. Tickets, he sees, for this evening. To a Lowell Spinners game.

“They’re a farm team for the Sox,” Bones explains. “I thought it might be nice to get out for bit. It’s an easy drive.”

Jim studies the tickets for another second and nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“I ran into O’Reilly over in radiology earlier and he offered me these box seats for a Sox game tomorrow and I was going to see if you were interested, but then—”

“You realized that was way too public and decided it’d be better if we left town?” Jim suggests, things starting to fall into place.

Bones takes his head out of the refrigerator and shuts the door. “What? No.” He turns to face Jim. “That’s not it at all. I mean, I thought about us being up there in that box with all those people and it just…I don’t know. It sounded like too much. And then I remembered how Joce and I used to drive up to Memphis sometimes to see the Redbirds. We’d bring a picnic and set up on the lawn over the outfield and… Fuck, I really should stop talking now, shouldn’t I?”

Jim shakes his head, but doesn’t look Bones in the eyes. “Forget it,” he says. “It’s not like I don’t know you’re married. I work here, remember?”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Jim. It was a bad idea.” Bones sounds stricken, like he’s gone and violated some rule in Emily Post’s book on the etiquette of the extramarital affair.” We can…I’ll call O’Reilly, see if the Sox tickets are still available…”

“Don’t bother.” Jim tries not to make it sound petty and pouty.

“All right. Okay.” Bones looks at a loss. “So I guess we could just stay in again, order some food—”

“No, you got tickets,” Jim says. “We should go.”

“They were $10 each. It’s no big deal.”

“No,” Jim insists, “it sounds fun and I think we should go.” He still isn’t looking at Bones and he knows he should, but he doesn’t feel like it.

“Jim…”

“What time do we have to leave?”

Bones hesitates. “Around five-thirty, I suppose, but are you sure you—?”

“I’m gonna work on my thesis for a while,” Jim announces. He sits back down in front of his laptop and starts typing. “I’m at a crucial point right now and I need to get these thoughts down. I’ll be ready at five-thirty.” He’s not sure what he’s typing exactly, but he doesn’t stop.

Eventually Bones leaves the kitchen.

 

 

The first ten minutes in the car are silent.

Finally, Bones turns up the radio.

Jim turns it back down again.

“Okay, so it makes sense that you two used to like spending time together,” he says. “I mean, you did get married and all. You just… I mean, I’ve never really even seen you two _talk_. It’s just hard to picture, I guess.”

Bones sighs. “When I met Joce, she wasn’t like she is now.” He pauses, glancing over at Jim.

Jim nods for him to go on.

“We met at Ole Miss. I was there to make my parents feel better – make it seem like I was still close to home. Jocelyn was there to piss her parents off. They expected her to go to Yale or Princeton, maybe. Brown at the worst. She was supposed to get a nice little education in English Literature or Art History while she found an appropriate man with an appropriate trust fund and earned her MRS. Oxford, Mississippi might as well’ve been Siberia to those people.”

Bones looks over at Jim again. Jim nods again.

Bones turns back to the road and keeps talking. “Anyway, I met her in the laundry room of my apartment building my junior year. I walked in with my bag full of clothes and there she was, dancing.”

“Like bopping along to her iPod?” Jim can’t quite feature it.

“It was a Discman. And, no, she was really dancing, like modern stuff. The way she could move, it was amazing. I couldn’t stop staring.” A beat. “Sorry.”

“No, I get it. She’s hot.”

Bones give Jim a look.

Jim gives it right back.

Bones is the first to look away.

“Right, so it turned out she was a dance major – not exactly what the Darnells had dreamed of for their only daughter. She told me she didn’t like leaving her laundry unattended and the floors were decent so she’d taken to practicing while waiting. I asked her to dinner.”

Jim tries to glance over without being too obvious, tries to read the expression on Bones’ face.

“I was spending most of my time in science classes at that point – pre-med and all – so the people I knew could be a little dull. Joce was artistic and spontaneous. And delightfully sarcastic. It was refreshing.” Bones sighs, sounding wistful. “It was easy, too, in a lot of ways. We lived in the same building just one floor apart. At some point our apartments became interchangeable. I started med school while she was in her last year. It was just a couple months before graduation when she found out she was pregnant.”

“Damn,” Jim whispers.

“Yeah. We hadn’t talked too much about the future, but Jocelyn was planning to move to Memphis after she graduated, join a dance company there. It wasn’t too long a drive, so we were thinking of staying together. I never would have asked her to stay in Oxford, though. It was important for both of us to forge our own paths, pursue our dreams and all that.”

Bones’ hands are tight around the wheel. “But when it came down to it, I guess we were both pretty traditional. She wanted to keep the baby and I thought I should propose. She took a couple of days to think about it, but eventually she accepted and stopped talking about Memphis. We figured I only had three more years of med school and then we’d be set. We could move somewhere where Joce would be able to dance.”

Jim hasn’t seen any sign of dancing from Jocelyn. Aside maybe from her body and her poise.

“We decided on a small ceremony back in Georgia. Mostly family. For a while we thought her parents were going to boycott the whole affair, but in the end, they came. In some ways, the whole thing felt just like the rest of our relationship – an exciting adventure, crazy, but fun. And, Joanna, the day she was born? Christ, Jim, you should have seen her. She was so tiny and perfect. I couldn’t believe I’d had a part in making such a precious little person.”

“Yeah,” Jim says, smiling genuinely for the first time all afternoon. “She’s pretty awesome.”

“So things were good for a while. Yeah, money was tight and I was buried in schoolwork, but there were these moments when we’d just sit together on the couch and watch Jo breathe and it was just…I don’t know, there just wasn’t anywhere in the world I’d rather have been, you know?”

“So what happened?”

“Well, her parents, for one thing. They’d been lying in wait since the wedding. When it came time for me to apply for residencies, they’d already pulled some strings to make sure I’d end up in Boston. I think they figured it was just far enough away that Joce wouldn’t balk. They bought us this house and called it an anniversary present. I wasn’t exactly sold on the whole thing – thought maybe we should just rent an apartment in the city – but the house was already bought and paid for and I think I’d underestimated how hard it was for Joce, being home alone with Jo all day, living in a small town, living on such a tight budget. It ended up being an offer she couldn’t refuse.”

“So I guess that’s when things changed?”

“I can’t really blame her. I knew she’d been lonely back in Oxford. All her friends had graduated and moved on. And then suddenly here she was, right back in the kind of place where she grew up. I was working even crazier hours with my residency and she knew exactly the kind of person she’d have to be to fit in with the other wives and mothers around here. I get why it happened. And, hell, with her fundraisers and shit, she’s probably done as much for my career as I have. She’s been a good mother to Joanna. And, honest to God, there’s a part of me that still loves her…”

There’s a short, but loud silence.

Jim’s voice is soft. “You just don’t like her anymore.”

For a moment, Bones doesn’t say anything and Jim’s afraid he’s gone too far.

“Yeah,” Bones says, just as softly. “I guess I don’t.”

 

 

The mood is a little heavy as they pull up to LaLacheur Park and make their way inside. Once the game starts, though, Jim sees why Bones wanted to come. The mood in the stands is infectious. They’re only a few feet from the field and surrounded by families with kids whose attention spans may be short, but whose excitement is pure and strong.

When the crowd erupts into cheers, it’s not about this star pitcher or that homerun hitter. It’s about the hard work of the teams and the joy of the game. The sunny day and the smell of hot roasted peanunts.

They get a bag of the peanuts – along some beers, a couple of hot dogs and a soft pretzel – and as they pull them out of the bag to crack off the shells and pop them in their mouths, sometimes their fingers brush. When the bag and the rest of the food are finished, Bones lays his left hand down by his side, holding his beer in his right. Jim switches his own beer to his left hand and lays his right down on top of Bones’ resting hand.

He waits to see if Bones will pull it away.

Bones doesn’t.

The home team wins the game.

 

 

“So,” Jim asks in the car on the way home, “am I the first?”

“First what?” Bones asks. “First guy I’ve slept with?”

“What? No. I mean, I hope I’m not,” Jim clarifies. “Not that that would be bad or anything, just that you don’t exactly come across as inexperienced. I mean, seriously? I’d be fucking jealous if anyone had that much raw talent.”

Bones chuckles. “Um…thank you?”

Jim leers. “Oh, it was definitely a compliment. But I’m not the first guy, am I?”

“No,” Bones confirms, “you’re not.”

“But, I mean, the other guys – was it before you were married?”

“Yeah. You’re my first affair, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah,” Jim admits. “I guess I was.” He pauses, then goes for it. “Does she know? About the guys from before?”

Bones shrugs. “I never told her.” He lets out a small huff of a laugh. “Of course, you’d think she’d get the hint seeing as how I’ve never objected to the ‘qualifications’ a single one of her staff hires.”

Sadly, that one takes Jim a minute. But once he gets it, he laughs and laughs. “Oh my god, you totally dig her hotness hiring policy! And here I thought I’d put my foot in it when I mentioned it that first night.”

Bones snorts. “You did put your foot in it.” He shrugs. “But, yeah, I’ve never minded having a little eye candy around the house.”

“Bones, Bones, Bones,” Jim says, shaking his head. “I feel so objectified.”

Bones just rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure it offends your delicate sensibilities.”

“Totally,” Jim says. “Okay, so you’ve been secretly perving on the help for years…”

“Appreciating,” Bones corrects.

“Perving,” Jim insists. “But I’m the first one who was so irresistible that you had to have your wicked way with me?”

“You’re the first one who was so _annoying_ that I couldn’t get you out of my head, no matter how hard I tired.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” Jim says, ready to move on to more interesting details. “So, tell me all about the dirty crushes you had before I came along.”

“Jim…”

“Come on, spill.”

“Fine,” Bones’ begins on sigh. “Last summer there was this pool boy…”

 

 

The next morning Bones makes an appearance at the hospital.

Jim makes a plan.

He starts by putting on his tightest, rattiest jeans and a thin white tee shirt. He forgoes shoes. When he hears Bones’ car pulling into the driveway, he hurries out back and starts running laps around the pool.

By the time Bones makes it through the house and outside to look for him, Jim is standing at the side of the pool dragging a leaf skimmer net over the water’s surface.

And dripping with (what he hopes is sexy) sweat.

For a moment, Bones just stares.

“Jim…?”

“Oh, hey there, Doctor McCoy,” Jim says, flashing his most eager and boyish smile. “You’re home early today.”

Bones blinks. “I…uh…”

Jim stands up straight, resting the hand holding the net on his hip as he lifts the hem of his shirt with the other hand and uses it to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I’m almost finished here, Doctor McCoy. Just need to check the water chemistry after this, but if you’d wanted to take a swim, I could always come back and finish up later. I have a couple more jobs in this neighborhood this afternoon.”

“I…uh…” Jim watches as Bones’ brain finally catches up. “No, no, Jimmy, I wouldn’t want to make you come all the way back. You go ahead and finish up. I can wait.”

Bones takes a seat in one of the pool chairs.

Jim smiles and goes back to skimming.

“Sure is a hot one today,” he says after a couple minutes.

“That it is, Jimmy,” Bones drawls. “That it is.”

“Would you mind…I mean, would it bother you too much if I took this shirt off?” Jim asks in a credible imitation of uncertainty. “It’s gotten kinda sweaty.”

“You go right on ahead, Jimmy. Don’t bother me none.”

It amuses Jim that Bones has chosen to be extra Southern in his role. Jim sets down the skimmer net and grasps the hem of his tee shirt with both hands, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. He uses it to wipe away the sweat on the back of his neck, then tosses it over onto a lounger. He takes a moment to stretch a bit, then bends over to pick the skimmer net back up.

Slowly.

“Say, Doctor McCoy,” Jim says, once he’s standing upright again, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a bottle of water or something? I left mine out in my truck.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

When Bones returns from the kitchen with the chilled bottle, Jim takes a moment to press the cool plastic against the curve of his neck. He slides it across his collarbone and lets it rest for a moment on the other side. Finally, he opens the bottle, lifting it to his lips and tilting his head back to take a couple long, deep swallows. When the bottle’s still half full, he pulls it away from his lips and lets the water go streaming over his face and down his chest.

When he finally lifts his head and looks back over at Bones, he’s pleased to see that Bones looks as if he could use a cold shower of his own.

Jim grins. “Thanks, Doctor McCoy, I needed that.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Bones pauses at his own wording. “Just how old _are_ you now, Jimmy?”

Jim words, ‘How old do you _want_ me to be?’ come to Jim’s lips, but he stops them.

Just barely.

It’s important to keep character.

Thinking quickly, Jim figures that Bones wouldn’t go for jailbait, but that he might like playing at barely-legal. “Just turned eighteen last week, Doctor McCoy.”

The look in Bones’ eyes tells Jim he made the right choice. “Well, happy birthday, then. Shame I didn’t get you anything.”

“It’s cool.” Jim smiles for a second, then ducks his head a bit, looking down at his own feet. “Say, Doctor McCoy…?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a doctor, right?”

Bones chuckles softly. “Yeah…” he drawls slowly, but it doesn’t sound mean. Jim thinks Bones must be the kind of doctor that patients trust instantly.

“So, like, if had kind of a…medical question…I mean, you wouldn’t tell anyone I asked, would you? It’s like doctor-patient confidentiality, right?”

Bones smiles and nods. “You’re not exactly my patient, Jimmy, but sure. You go ahead and ask. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Well, see, there’s this boy that lives down the street. And sometimes he comes over when my parents aren’t home and we…do stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, you know…” Jim wishes he could blush on command.

“Well, that’s alright, kid. Some folks may be hateful about it sometimes, but don’t you listen to them. There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to other boys.”

“Duh,” Jim says, rolling his eyes. “I know it’s okay to be gay. I mean, I _have_ the internet.”

Bones’ _kids-these-days_ look falls somewhere between exasperated and envious. “What is it that you wanted to know, then?”

“It’s…um…you know, about the stuff we do together…the, uh…mechanics.”

“What? You don’t have the internet for that, too?”

Jim ducks his head again. “Uh…”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy.” Bones gestures to a pair of loungers. “Let’s have a seat.” They sit. “Now you go right on ahead and tell me what you need to know.”

Jim rests his elbows of his knees. “Well, you know, I watch porn. I mean, I watch _a lot_ of porn, right? The internet’s _great_ for that. And sometimes that boy and I watch it together. And we…take care of ourselves, you know. Or, um…sometimes we take care of each other. And there’s been some BJs and stuff. But I guess I’m kind of interested in…taking things to the next level. Only…um…I’m not sure the stuff in the porn is like…totally realistic…”

“You’re talking about anal sex,” Bones clarifies.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re interested in…?” Bones trails off.

“Taking it up the ass,” Jim supplies helpfully.

Bones clears his throat. “Right,” he says. “Well, you were smart to ask someone about it. Things can move pretty quickly in the…uh…adult entertainment industry. But when you’re trying it at home, you want to be a little more careful so no one gets hurt. I mean, that’s not the kind of injury you’re gonna want to explain in the emergency room.”

“Oh my god,” Jim says, worried and wide-eyed and way over the top. “It’s _that_ dangerous?”

“Not if you prepare and do things right. Don’t worry, Jimmy, I can tell you how.”

Jim hesitates, looking down at his knees, then glancing back up at Bones, shy but determined. “I, um…”

“Or, if you’d rather, I can recommend a book that’d tell you everything you need to know.”

Jim looks down to hide a small smile. Only Bones could be this sensitive and sincere in the middle of a fucking fantasy role-play. Jim kind of adores it.

But it’s time to get things back on track.

Looking up again, he catches Bones’ gaze and holds it. “Actually, Doctor McCoy, I was kinda hoping maybe you could _show_ me.”

“I…uh…. What about your boy down the street?”

“He’s just a boy,” Jim says. “If I wanna learn to do things right, I think I’m gonna need a man.”

Bones’ look is slow and assessing, his confidence growing. “And what makes you think I have the kind of experience you’re looking for?”

Jim thinks about that one. “Well, there’s the way you watch me when you don’t think I know you’re there,” he begins, not sounding so shy anymore. “And then there’s the guys I see here sometimes. Never seem to stay for more than a few weeks? They like to lounge by the pool.”

Bones smiles at the image of the lifestyle. “You _have_ been paying attention, haven’t you?”

“I’ve noticed you like ‘em young.”

“Maybe so,” Bones admits. “But I tend to prefer them old enough to buy their own drinks.”

“Huh,” Jim says. “Didn’t seem to me like they were buying much of anything. Anyway, I’m old enough to die for my country; I think I know what I want.”

“And what is that, exactly? You wanna be one of those guys? You think I’m gonna keep you?”

“Nah,” Jim says, “just offering you the chance to break me in.”

“Lay back,” Bones says.

 

 

Jim could get used to playing naïve.

The lounge chair is nicely cushioned, the midday sun is warm against his skin, and he’s really enjoying letting Bones do all the work.

They’ve done slow, but never quite like this. Bones started at the top and is working his way down. Jim swears it’s been at least half an hour and Bones has _just now_ reached Jim’s nipples.

“Now, not all men are sensitive here,” Bones explains, “but sometimes it’s just a matter of finding the right technique. A flick…” he demonstrates “…a suck…” which technically still seems to involve some flicking “…or a bite.”

Jim’s back arches a bit at the last.

“But then,” Bones manages to say with his teeth still closed lightly around Jim’s right nipple, “sometimes it’s a matter of intensity.”

The teeth close tighter and tighter as Jim’s back bows further and further off the lounger. Finally, Bones lets go and Jim sinks back down into the cushion, panting.

“Looks like you like it a little rough,” Bones observes.

Jim whimpers as Bones shifts to lower his mouth to the other nipple. This time as Bones bites down, he reaches over to pinch the other nipple tight between his fingers.

Jim cries out, his hands coming up to grip Bones’ shoulders, fingernails digging in.

When Bones finally lets go, he soothes the nipple for a moment with the tip of his tongue, then lifts up, sitting back far enough that Jim’s hands fall from his shoulders. Bones takes those hands and raises them above Jim’s head to the top of the lounger, holding them there until Jim takes the hint and grips at its edge.

“Good boy,” Bones says. “We’ll keep those there from now on.”

Jim whimpers again.

Bones gets back to work.

 

By the time Bones gets around to unbuttoning Jim’s jeans, Jim is literally shaking with need. And, still, Bones keeps up the commentary.

“Now I know you said you’ve done this before, but real fellatio is about more than suction or a hot, wet place to stick your dick. You’re gonna have different sensitivity and sensation in different places.”

Down goes Jim’s zipper and then Bones is sliding the jeans down Jim’s hips.

Jim’s not wearing any underwear.

“Well, now, isn’t this convenient?” Bones says.

“Forgot to do laundry,” Jim mumbles by way of explanation, but even his character is lying about that.

“Now we’ve got the shaft, the foreskin, the glans, and the meatus,” Bones continues, illustrating his words with the gentle drag of a single finger.

Jim’s breath has run short.

“I often find the corona to be especially sensitive,” Bones notes, tracing that, too, with his finger.

Jim’s stomach and leg muscles twitch.

“And then, of course, the scrotum. And most especially, the base of the perineum, where, if one supplies sufficient pressure,” Bones matches words to action, “one can stimulate the prostate gland.”

Jim releases a strangled sort of moan.

Bones grins before lowering his head. The commentary continues, calm and coherent.

If a bit muffled.

The words are almost hotter than the actions.

Except for the part where the actions are slowly short circuiting Jim’s nervous system.

“Now each of these areas might respond differently to a touch…or to a tongue.”

Bones demonstrates.

Thoroughly.

“Of course, that said,” Bones concludes thoughtfully, over the sound of Jim’s now constant whimpering, “there’s always a time and a place for some good old-fashioned suction.”

That time: now.

That place: here.

Bones produces a condom from somewhere – maybe his back pocket – and carefully rolls it down over Jim’s dick.

It takes all Jim’s self-control not to come just from that.

Once Bones’ swallows him down, however, no amount of self-control can hold back the orgasm that seems to rip through Jim’s entire body.

“Good,” Bones says sometime later when Jim’s eyes crack back open. “Now that you’re nice and relaxed, we can head upstairs and start the _real_ lesson.”

 

Heading upstairs involves a fair amount of stumbling on Jim’s part and a good measure of hauling on Bones’.

The _real_ lesson involves copious amount of lubricant – Jimmy is a virgin after all – and Jim’s very favorite Three R’s.

Readying, reaming, and release.

And by the time Bones hooks Jim’s leg over his shoulder – so as to demonstrate the perfect angle for hitting Jim’s prostate – Jim’s dick is back in the game and more than ready for a second shot.

Jimmy is eighteen after all.

“Touch me, Doctor McCoy. God, touch me, _please_.”

It’s a miracle Jim manages the right name. But not half the miracle that is Bones’ hand – hot and tight and so, so right – around Jim’s cock. Jim barely lasts three strokes and the way he clenches around Bones as he comes sets off Bones’ own release.

Bones collapses on top of Jim after that, his hot, slick skin pressing against Jim’s, and Jim relishes the weight. He never wants to move again.

“Maybe I’ll keep you after all,” Bones murmurs, his breath warm against Jim’s ear.

Jim murmurs back something like assent and they doze for a while.

 

 

When Jim stirs sometime later, it’s still there in the air around them. That eerie, aching verisimilitude.

“This isn’t quite what I expected when I started,” Jim says softly, breaking character.

He’s not even sure Bones is awake until he gets his answer.

“You’re not the only one.” Then, “Go back to sleep, Jimmy.”

Jim drifts back off wrapped tightly in the fantasy.


	13. Chapter 13

It’s Wednesday morning and the sound of Bones’ cell phone wakes Jim from a mid-morning doze. Bones seems to be in the shower or something and Jim nearly answers instinctively. Then he gets a look at the caller ID.

Jocelyn.

He sits there watching it ring until it goes to voicemail.

Bones returns about ten minutes later with a smile on his face.

And waffles.

Jim would be thrilled except…

“You missed a call.”

Bones sets the tray of food on the bed and picks up the phone on the nightstand. He looks at the screen for a second, then hits number one on his speed dial and heads out into the hall.

Jim can still hear his side of the conversation.

“It’s me,” he says.

“Uh huh.”

“Right. Sounds good.”

“Yeah, of course, put her on.”

“Hey, baby girl.”

It occurs to Jim that Bones has probably been talking to his family on the phone often while they’ve been gone. Maybe every day. He’s just never done it when Jim was around.

“Well, you’re still _my_ baby girl. And I’ve missed you.”

It suddenly occurs to Jim just what Bones has given up to spend this two weeks in their own little universe.

“Oh, I’ll bet you did.”

“Of course, I can help you write the letter if you want. Then you can give it to the mail carrier yourself.”

“Uh huh. Well, I look forward to seeing them.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure he’s looking forward to that, too.”

“Okay, I’ll see you very soon, Jo-Jo. I love you.”

It’s a selfish universe.

“Put your mom back on, okay?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, then. Travel safely.”

“Bye.”

Bones steps back into the room.

Jim hasn’t touched the waffles.

“They’ll be back this evening,” Bones says. “Probably around seven.”

Right on schedule.

 

The rest of the day proceeds like the last two weeks on rewind. Unraveling the comfy little nest they made of the guest bedroom takes only a fraction of the time it took to build it.

Bones carries his medical journals back to the office.

Jim takes his books back to his bedroom.

He takes his shampoo out of the master shower.

They separate their clothes and put them in their respective laundries.

They strip the bed.

The cleaning service arrives in the afternoon, sweeping, washing and wiping the weeks away. By five o’clock, everything is just like it was before.

Except totally different.

 

 

When Jim finds Bones in his study to tell him that he’s heading to the airport to pick up Hikaru, he feels like they’ve barely spoken all day.

He’s most keenly aware of one particular word they haven’t said to each other.

Goodbye.

“Anyway, see you later,” Jim says, giving an awkward wave from the doorway.

“Hold on,” Bones says. “Come here.”

Bones stands up from his chair and they meet in the middle. Bones takes Jim’s chin in his hand and holds him in place for a long, slow kiss.

“See you later,” Bones says.

 

 

 

“Thanks, man,” Hikaru says after he throws his bags into the trunk of Jim’s car and gets in on the passenger side.

“No problem,” Jim assures him as he checks the rearview mirror and pulls into the traffic quagmire outside of baggage claim. “Did you have a good time in California?”

“You know California,” Hikaru says. (Jim doesn’t.) “People are batshit crazy out there, but it feels like home.”

“And how was your family?”

“Also batshit crazy, but also home. You know.”

(Jim still doesn’t, exactly. But closer.)

“How about you?” Hikaru asks. “You made it back to Nebraska to see your mom?”

“Iowa,” Jim says, trying for casual. “And no, I didn’t end up going. Figured I’d get more done if I stuck around here.”

“Uh huh,” Hikaru says. “And did you? Get _done more_?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim says, keeping his eyes on the road.

“I’m not talking about anything,” Hikaru assures him. “But I hope it was worth it.”

Jim smiles because it really, really was.

“And I’m really hoping you know what you’re doing.”

Jim doesn’t answer. Because the truth is, he hasn’t got a clue.

 

 

When they get back to the house, Hikaru heads straight for the kitchen, intent on getting dinner going before the rest of the family gets home. Jim lingers in the kitchen for a few minutes – listening to stories of Hikaru’s sisters’ shenanigans and the guys in the clubs in the Castro – but eventually he drifts back out to the living room where Bones is nursing a glass of bourbon.

“You want one?” he asks Jim.

“Nah,” Jim says, even though he could probably use it. “I just…I…”

Before Jim can even figure out what it was he wanted to say, there are sounds from the driveway and then the front door and Joanna’s calls of, “Daddy! Daddy!”

Bones jumps up and meets her in the foyer, sweeping her up into his arms. Jim hangs back, letting them have their moment, and then the foyer is full, with the driver and the luggage and Jocelyn and Gaila.

No one seems to have spotted Jim yet and he finds himself ducking out of sight, looping around to sneak up the back stairs.

A few minutes later, Jim’s sitting on the edge of his bed when Gaila appears at his door. Apparently, Jim’s not as stealthy as he thought. She stands there for a few long moments looking him over and then slowly shakes her head.

“Oh, Jimmy, you’re in it deep now, aren’t you?”

For the first time, the nickname stings.

Jim looks down at Gaila’s feet, keeping his eyes on them as they get closer and closer to the bed. “Your polish is chipped,” he murmurs.

Five minutes later, they’re facing each other on the bed and Jim’s got one of Gaila’s ankles in his hand, holding her foot steady while he paints sparkly green color onto each toenail.

Two coats of color, then a finisher. When it’s done, Jim leans down to blow on the nails and Gaila giggles. Then her foot spasms and nearly catches Jim in the face.

“Hey,” Jim cries, snatching at the foot and holding it in place again as he brushes his fingertips up and down the sole.

Gaila squirms and kicks, freeing her foot and nailing Jim’s stomach with it in the bargain.

“Oh, now you’re in for it,” Jim declares. The ensuing scuffle lasts until Hikaru appears to call them down for dinner.

The McCoys are in the dining room, so the three of them take their plates out to the patio and spend a comfortable hour or three eating and catching up.

As the conversation carries on above the table, Gaila and Jim continue their interrupted wrestling match below it, surreptitiously exchanging stealthy but vicious kicks. It’s all fun and games until Hikaru gets caught in the crossfire and goes on to prove that, with three older and two younger sisters in his family, he was born stealthy.

And Vicious is his middle name.

Minutes later, Gaila and Jim surrender.

 

 

Still, all great distractions must come to an end.

Having both spent most of the day traveling, it’s just past ten when Hikaru and Gaila retire to their respective rooms. It’s well past Joanna’s bedtime, as well, and the lights downstairs are mostly off. The house is quiet.

Before Jim can question it, his feet have taken him to Bones’ study.

The door is closed.

Jim opens it without knocking, then freezes in his tracks when he sees Jocelyn sitting across the desk from Bones. Bones just stares at Jim for a second, long enough for Jocelyn to turn around and see him standing in the doorway.

“Oh, hi, Jim,” she says. “Did you need something?”

“I, uh…yeah,” Jim says, thinking quickly and taking a small step into the room. “I was just looking for you. I was…uh…wondering if you wanted me to start up again with Joanna tomorrow morning or, you know, give her a day to recover from the trip?”

“I think she’ll be eager to start tomorrow,” Jocelyn says, smiling. “She was very excited about the vacation projects you gave her. It was a wonderful idea.”

“Oh good,” Jim says, managing to smile in return. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about it.” He takes a step back into the doorway. “Anyway, thanks, I’ll just…um…leave you to it.”

“Thanks.” Jocelyn turns back to face Bones. “Swear to me, Len, that you will give me any last minute additions to the guest list by Friday.”

“Of course,” Bones nods, sparing one last glance for Jim as he pulls the door closed behind him.

 

 

The next day, Jim’s back in his routine.

Bones isn’t around when Jim comes down for breakfast. After breakfast, Jim spends the morning working with Joanna, hearing all about her many adventures.

He thinks about how Bones only gets to hear the stories, too. About the things Bones missed.

Just after he sends Joanna down for lunch, Jim gets a text.

_Meet me for late lunch?_

Not giving himself too much time to think, Jim jumps in his car and heads into the city. On the way there, he starts to wonder if “lunch” really just means lunch.

Or worse, The Talk.

But it turns out “lunch” means sex.

Just like it always has.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Bones says afterwards. “Jocelyn is planning a party. It’s a hospital fundraiser and she needed to go over the details.”

“Right,” Jim says. “No problem.”

On the way back to Wellesley, Jim wonders when _he_ became the person that Bones needs to explain himself to.

 

 

It should be easy, familiar – the stolen moments, the frantic, quiet encounters. After all, they’re just going back to the way things were before.

The late “lunch” becomes a thing over the next week and, if anything, it’s more convenient. Jocelyn is well and truly distracted with the party planning and it’s easy enough to account for Jim’s daily trips into the city since classes have just started.

After the hospital, he just heads to campus or drops by his apartment, where he’s trying to put things back in order post-sublet.

It should be easy, but somehow it’s the hardest thing Jim’s ever done. Seeing Bones at home in the morning or later in the evening – sometimes with Joanna, sometimes with Jocelyn – and neither giving nor receiving anything more than passing nods of acknowledgement.

Giving Bones back to his family.

Jim doesn’t know when he started thinking of Bones as his.

Or how to stop.

 

 

Jim’s hands itch to straighten Bones’ tie.

It’s crooked and Jocelyn is right there beside him, smiling as Bones tells some medical story to someone who looks important, but she doesn’t straighten it.

She doesn’t let her hand brush the nape of his neck as she fixes the tie and then adjusts the collar. She doesn’t brush imaginary lint off his jacket.

Jim doesn’t know if he’s annoyed or relieved by her negligence.

He also doesn’t know what he’s doing here. Today was his last official day of work and he could be back in his crappy apartment right now working on his thesis.

He does know that he doesn’t belong at this party.

He didn’t pay the $100 or $500 or $1000 or whatever it is that basically goes along with the RSVP. He won’t be pulling out his checkbook to make a more generous contribution later in the evening.

He’s not running the kitchen or passing around hors d’oeuvres or tending bar.

He feels underdressed in his very best suit and he doesn’t even have Joanna to talk to. She made the briefest of appearances at the beginning of the evening and has long since been whisked back upstairs.

Not that he’s a wallflower or anything. The ladies from the book clubs, planning committees and historical societies that Jocelyn’s had over this summer have all made special points of coming over to chat and Jim can do charming in his sleep.

He’s doing it right now as he watches Bones and Jocelyn out of the corner of his eye. A short silence indicates that his conversation partner has finally finished her story and he fakes a small laugh, flashes a sly smile. “No,” he teases, “you _didn’t_.”

She giggles and says something back that seems only to be an excuse for a hand on Jim’s upper arm.

Jim keeps the smile on his face and gently disengages under the guise of fetching her another drink.

He takes care to take long enough in the fetching that the woman happens into another drink and a new conversation partner on her own. By the time Jim turns away from the bar with glasses of wine and bourbon in his hands, Jocelyn has left Bones’ side. Jim watches from across the room as Bones seems to talk shop with some other doctor Jim’s pretty sure he’s seen around the hospital.

Jim imagines what it might be like to know the other doctor’s name. To be standing at Bones’ side right now, feigning boredom as he secretly admires Bones’ mad doctoring skillz, maybe teasing Bones about being all business.

Jim feels someone come up beside him and nearly jumps out of his skin when he turns to see Jocelyn.

“Having fun, Jim?” she asks.

“It’s a lovely event,” Jim answers, because that’s not a lie.

Jocelyn follows his gaze before Jim can redirect it. “He’s good at this when he lets himself be,” she says on a sigh. “But the way he looks at me when I tell him I’m planning a fundraiser, you’d think I was asking him to submit to an elective root canal.”

Jim laughs because it’s the polite thing to do. “I’m sure he appreciates the things you do for his career,” Jim tells her, because it’s true. He tries not to sound begrudging.

“If he does, it’s news to me.” Jocelyn glances down at the drinks Jim is holding in either hand and looks back up smiling. “I see you’re enjoying the bar.”

Jim looks down. “Oh,” he says, lifting the wine glass, “this one isn’t mine. It’s intended recipient seems to be otherwise occupied.”

“I’m sure she’ll find her way back to you,” Jocelyn says. “Everyone knows you’re the handsomest man in the room.”

Jim shrugs. “I think your husband could give me a run for my money,” he says, trying to make it sound like an ordinary compliment. They’re both still looking at Bones anyway.

Jocelyn only shrugs in return. “Do you mind?” she asks, nodding toward the wine glass.

Jim hands it to her.

She takes one sip, and then another. “He’s having an affair, you know.”

Jim, who just took a mouthful of his bourbon, nearly spits it out. “What?” he asks first. Then: “I mean, how do you know?” Then, better, more casual: “I mean, what makes you think that?”

Jocelyn takes another drink. “You just know. I mean, he’s been acting differently. He smiles sometimes when he thinks I’m not looking. He moves like his body wants something, you know?”

God, Jim does know. He totally knows. “Maybe he just changed his workout routine or something,” he suggests.

Jocelyn snorts. “I’m not an idiot. Look, I know she’s your friend and I know it’s a cliché – doing the nanny and all – but do you think it’s Gaila?”

“What?” Jim asks again, already shaking his head. “No. No, she would never. I mean, Gaila enjoys…men, but she’s strictly about those who are freely available. And she loves working with Joanna way too much to risk her job here.”

And, yeah, Jim realizes he just basically called himself an immoral, reckless asshole, but he really doesn’t want Gaila to be fired over this.

After a moment, Jocelyn nods. “I’m sure you’re right. It’s probably someone he met at the hospital or something.”

“I…uh…” Jim really doesn’t know what to say.

“Some career woman too busy to find her own husband.”

Jim’s still got nothing. He wants to ask her why she cares so much. It’s not like she’s never done this to Bones before.

“Do you know what it’s like to see your husband happier than he’s been in years and know that it’s because he’s screwing someone else?”

Jim doesn’t know what it’s like, but he can’t help but feel a brief flash of satisfaction, knowing he’s made Bones so happy. ‘But you never even bother to talk to him anymore,’ Jim wants to say. ‘What the hell did you expect?’

His eyes dart around the room in search of a viable exit strategy.

“Do you think I’m attractive?” Jocelyn asks.

Jim blinks, a bit startled by the change in direction. “I…uh…”

“You have no idea how hard I worked after we moved here, to finally lose all the baby weight. They tell you that’s what you have to do to keep a man happy. But I doubt Len even noticed.”

“You look great,” Jim says, but it comes out too awkward to sound sincere. He wants to ask Jocelyn why she’s chosen _him_ for this guerilla heart-to-heart.

“Be honest,” she insists. “You’re young, you’re out there. Suppose you met me in a bar tomorrow – how would I measure up?”

It makes his chest tight with embarrassment, the way she sounds so needy. It’s a conversation too absurd to be real, but he’s got to say something and flirtatious has always been Jim’s default.

He gives her a trademark smirk. “Oh, believe me, I’d be all over you – _if_ I didn’t know you were taken.” _And if I wasn’t half in love with your husband._

 _Shit_ , he really didn’t mean to think that.

He looks at the ground so she won’t see his eyes. God, he wishes this conversation would end.

No such luck.

“You could, you know…”

Jim’s head snaps up. “I…uh…. Excuse me?” He really hopes she doesn’t mean what he thinks she means.

“You and I,” she confirms. “We could…” She waves her hand in a small circle.

Jim downs the rest of his bourbon in one swallow. “You’re my boss,” he croaks.

“Not for long,” she counters.

Jim can’t speak. He’s standing in the middle of a posh hospital fundraiser at his place of employment and being propositioned by his lover’s wife. It’s a fucking French farce.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Jocelyn says into Jim’s gaping silence. “I wouldn’t expect anything from you. I just…” She takes a deep breath. “I just want to feel desirable again.”

“I can’t…I really…” Jim stammers. “It just wouldn’t be…”

It’s Jocelyn’s turn to down the rest of her drink in one go. She lowers the glass and looks down. “God, I am _really_ bad at this,” she says, almost to herself. She shakes her head and when she looks up, she’s regained some of her usual composure. “I’m sorry, Jim,” she says briskly. “Please forget I said anything.”

She doesn’t wait for Jim to answer, just turns and walks away as fast as she can without looking hurried, and that’s when it occurs to Jim: She really _was_ bad at that.

Almost like she’d never done it before.


	14. Chapter 14

Jim’s boxes are packed and set to be delivered later. For now, he makes his way downstairs with only a duffel bag. Jocelyn, Joanna, Gaila and Hikaru stand in the foyer, ready to see Jim off. Bones is nowhere in sight.

Jim hugs Hikaru first, finishing off with a couple of manly pats. “Call me soon. We’ll get a drink.”

Hikaru nods. “You bet, man. Later.” He wanders off into the kitchen.

Gaila is next. “You too,” Jim says. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“You just try and get rid of me, Jimmy Kirk,” she dares.

Jim crouches down as Joanna approaches. “You ready to start school on Monday?” he asks.

Joanna shakes her head.

Jim nods. “You’re gonna be awesome. Remember, just because the other kids aren’t as smart as you doesn’t mean you can’t have fun with them. And, hey, if anyone gives you trouble, you just let me know and I’ll come beat them up for you.”

Joanna giggles at that.

“See,” Jim says, pointing at her smiling face. “You just show them that and they won’t be able to resist you.”

“Thanks for making the summer so fun, Jim. I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you, too, kiddo. Give me a hug.”

They squeeze each other tight.

When Jim stands back up, he has to blink a bit of extra moisture out of his eyes.

He turns to Jocelyn. “Is the driver here?”

“I sent him away,” Jocelyn says. She steps closer. “Thank you for not saying anything about the other night.” She takes his hand and places a set of car keys in it. The same keys he turned into her the day before. “Consider it a bonus.”

God, would he love to just say thank you and drive off with the GTI he’s totally come to think of as his.

But it’s not his.

And he’s got no right to take anything more from here.

He swallows and hands the keys back. “That’s very generous, Mrs. McCoy, but I couldn’t.” He smiles to take the sting out of his refusal. “Besides, who can afford the parking?”

“I’ll call the driver back for you,” Jocelyn says.

Jim waves the offer away. “That’s okay, I’ll just ask Hikaru.”

But when Jim gets into the kitchen, Hikaru’s not alone. Bones is there, too.

Jim looks past him. “Hey, Hikaru, can you give me a ride into the city?”

“Yeah, sure, man. I’ll just—”

“It’s okay, Hikaru,” Bones interjects. “I can take him.” He picks up his keys off the hook. “Come on, Jim, let’s go.”

When they get back into the foyer, Bones turns to Jocelyn. “I’m taking Jim into the city. I was planning to go into the hospital later today anyway. There’s a patient I want to check in on and some paperwork I need to get done.”

“I’m sure there is,” Jocelyn says, not meeting Bones’ eyes. She looks at Jim instead. “Thank you, Jim, you did a terrific job. I hope we’ll see you again sometime.”

Jim thinks that if she does see him again, it won’t be good. “Me too,” he says.

 

 

“I thought Joce was going to give you the car,” Bones says, once they’re on the road.

“I turned it down.” Jim pauses, then looks over at Bones. “Wait a minute? You knew about that?”

“She told me she wanted to do it,” Bones confirms, like it’s no big deal.

“And you thought it was a good idea?” Jim asks, barely keeping the edge out of his voice.

“Sure,” Bones says. “You deserved it.”

“What?” Jim snaps. “For services rendered?”

“For the excellent work that you did with my _daughter_ , Jim. Christ.”

“I already got paid for that part,” Jim notes. “Well.”

“So, what? You think _I_ think you’re my whore?” Bones sounds genuinely pissed at this point.

But, hey, so is Jim. “I _think_ that things will be a lot simpler for you if I leave happy.”

“You think I tried to pay you off to be quiet? I wouldn’t do that.”

 _Your wife would_ , Jim wants to say, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t told Bones what happened at the party.

He doesn’t plan to.

“Whatever,” Jim says. “Let’s just drop it.”

“Fine,” Bones says.

“Fine,” Jim repeats.

They drive the rest of the way in silence, and then they’re parked outside Jim’s building and suddenly Jim’s reluctant to leave the car.

“I…” Jim begins, but then he thinks better of it.

Bones doesn’t say anything at all.

Jim tosses around a few more thoughts before finally settling on: “Do you wanna come up?”

Bones takes the keys out of the ignition and follows Jim upstairs.

 

 

As soon as the door to Jim’s apartment shuts behind them, Jim finds himself slammed up against it. Bones’ lips smash against his; Bones’ tongue plunges into his mouth.

Jim lets it happen for a minute before turning the tables, pushing off the door and shoving Bones backward until he falls onto the couch. Jim climbs on top of him.

It’s frantic again, like in those days before the vacation when there was always the risk – the thrill – of getting caught.

Only this time the risk is something different.

It’s rough, too, the way Jim has always liked it, but this time Jim’s pushing back with equal force. Not asking, or accepting, but demanding, taking.

And, more than anything, it’s possessive.

Selfish and jealous and needy.

Things it’s never been.

Or maybe things it’s always been all along.

By the time it’s over, it feels like the whole room is covered in sex and sweat. They’re on the floor amid the contents of the coffee table – which, being a piece of knock-off IKEA shit Jim found on the curb one day, has probably met its final end.

As for this thing between them, that’s much harder to tell. Is this the end or the total refusal of it?

Either way, he needs to know.

“So,” Jim asks, after picking some things up off the floor and getting them both glasses of water, “will I see you tomorrow?”

“No,” Bones says, setting the water down on a window sill and doing up his pants.

Jim’s hear nearly stops in his chest.

“It’s Joanna’s first day of school tomorrow,” Bones continues calmly, not having seen the look on Jim’s face. “I like to make sure I’m there when she gets home so I can see how things went.”

“Right,” Jim says, breathing again.

“Tuesday?” Bones suggests.

“I get out of class at six.”

 

 

So Jim is the other…person.

He’s the staff meeting that ran too long.

He’s the sudden emergency surgery that took hours to finish.

He’s the extra shift Bones has to take to cover for a sick colleague.

And his is the bed Bones fucks in, but never the one he sleeps in. Maybe it’s just as well; his mattress is only a double.

“We really need to get you a bigger bed,” Bones says one time after a particularly acrobatic attempt nearly lands them both on the floor. “This is an ambulance ride waiting to happen.”

Jim gestures around the room with his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, I can barely fit this one in here. Another few inches and I wouldn’t be able to open my dresser drawers.”

Bones doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then: “Well, maybe we should get you a bigger apartment.”

“Yeah, right,” Jim says. “Rent in this city is astronomical. I consider myself lucky to have found a place free of any major infestations.”

“Well, I mean…I could help out…”

When Jim catches on, something clenches in his gut. “No, thanks,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Jim, I…”

“If you want a place in the city, get it for yourself,” Jim snaps. “I’m fine here.”

“Jim…”

Bones reaches out for him, but Jim backs off of the bed, pulling on a pair of boxers. “It’s getting late,” he says. “You wouldn’t want to miss dinner.”

Bones takes the hint and gets dressed.

Jim waits in the living room and tells himself he doesn’t really care. This is the place Bones goes on his way to or from home, but it’s not the place Bones stays.

“It’s complicated,” Bones says, standing in the doorway, eyes pleading with Jim to understand. “I just need some time. But I’m going to figure things out, I swear.”

It’s the first promise Bones has ever made Jim; it should make him feel better.

Somehow it only makes him feel worse.

 

 

He doesn’t see Bones for a few days. They exchange some texts. Their schedules refuse to line up.

It’s a Friday, early evening, when Bones finally appears at Jim’s door.

He’s wearing a tuxedo.

Whatever lingering annoyance Jim had melts away at the sight and he lets out a wolf whistle.

Bones blushes. “There’s a hospital benefit tonight, so I don’t have too long,” he mutters, tugging at the bowtie around his neck, “but I wanted to see you.”

Jim focuses on the hotness of the tux and tries not to picture Bones wandering around a large ballroom in it, bourbon in hand and Jocelyn on his arm.

He reaches up and straightens Bones’ bowtie, taking the time to make sure it’s absolutely perfect before unraveling it with one sharp tug. He slides it from around Bones’ neck, tosses it toward the floor, but Bones catches the silk before it hits the ground.

“Careful,” he says. “I need to put this all back on.”

 _Of course_ , Jim thinks, _need the right costume to play the perfect husband._

But he swallows the words down and takes Bones by the hand, instead, walking backward toward the bedroom, drawing Bones with him.

Without a word, he sits Bones down on the bed and kneels before him. A quick glance at the growing bulge beneath Bones’ fly tells Jim what Bones _thinks_ their positions means, but Jim simply bends over and starts to untie Bones’ shiny black shoes. He slips each one off, then removes each of Bones’ socks and puts them inside. He sets the shoes next to the wall.

Jim stands and pulls Bones up with him, still not speaking. Bones follows his lead, keeping silent and mostly still. Letting Jim do what he will.

He reaches for Bones’ fly, then, but only lets his fingers brush lightly over the outline of his cock as he works the pants down Bones’ legs, taking a knee again to let Bones step out of them.

He leaves Bones standing by the bed in his tux jacket and boxers while he goes to his closet for a hanger. He folds and hangs the pants. He takes the bowtie out of Bones’ hand, then slips the jacket from Bones’ shoulders and places them both on the hanger as well, before putting it on a hook on his closet door.

Next he sets to work on Bones’ crisp white shirt, pushing each button through its hole, working his way down. He takes each of Bones’ hands and removes the cufflinks one at a time, setting them aside on the dresser before pushing the shirt off of Bones shoulders, leaving him fully naked but for a pair of boxer briefs.

But Jim doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the sight until he’s taken another hanger from the closet for the shirt, doing up each of the buttons to make sure it hangs just right. When he’s finished, Jim feels absolutely confident that there will be no outward sign of Bones’ little detour.

Satisfied, he turns his attention back to nearly-naked Bones, and to making sure that the _inward_ signs of this visit are undeniable.

“Have you ever bottomed before?” The words seem sharper for the long silence.

Bones looks startled by the question, but recovers quickly, shaking his head no.

“Afraid it’ll make you less of a man, never came up, or just not interested?”

Bones considers these options, swallows. “Little bit of everything, I guess. Before. I mean, I was young and most of my…encounters weren’t exactly romantic. I just went with what felt natural.”

“Makes sense,” Jim says, circling around until he can lay flat, warm palms against Bones’ broad, bare back. “I wonder, though, knowing as much as you do about the anatomy,” he slides the palms slowly downward, “the physiology – haven’t you ever been curious about how it _feels_?”

The palms have reached Bones’ ass now, are curving around it, testing its shape. He can feel the tension in Bones’ muscles through the cotton of his boxer-briefs. It’s nothing Jim’s hands haven’t done before, but they’ve never done it with such…intent.

“I, um…” Bones swallows. “I’ve thought about it, yeah.”

“But…?” Jim prompts, hands still smoothing and shaping.

“But I guess I’ve never trusted anyone enough to…”

Jim runs one gentle finger down between Bones’ buttocks and back up again.

Slowly.

Lightly.

“Do you trust _me_?” Jim asks.

“Yes,” Bones breathes.

“Good.” Jim gives Bones a quick slap on the ass and steps back. “Then take those off and get on the bed.”

“I, uh…” Bones stumbles a bit over the quick change in tone, over Jim’s turning of their usual tables. “How do you want me?” he asks, finally.

Jim doesn’t hesitate. “On your stomach. Put a pillow under your hips.”

He begins to strip off his own clothing as he watches Bones position himself on the bed. Once Bones is ready and Jim is naked, Jim takes a moment to consider the beautiful form lying before him. He knows his focus, and his ultimate goal, but where to start?

He steps forward and finds himself wrapping both hands around Bones’ left foot. He begins to knead a bit and suddenly the sense memory brings him back to that first time between them up in Jim’s bedroom, right after Bones nearly gave himself a heart attack over an unsafe blowjob.

Only Bones.

Something clenches in Jim’s chest and he transfers the tension into his fingers, which circle and press against the tight spots in Bones’ arch. This time, Bones doesn’t complain about Jim taking his time (even though it’ll make him late to the benefit if Jim has anything to say about it). This time Bones just accepts the touch.

Maybe because he’s more comfortable with this than the touch to come.

Maybe because it eases his jitters.

Either way, Jim is happy to oblige.

He moves his massaging hands slowly up the back of Bones’ calves, working on his hamstrings, kneading his glutes. It’s almost not sexual.

Until Jim leans down and bites into one buttock.

Bones squirms.

Jim smiles and does some more nipping at Bones’ backside, while slowly pushing Bones’ thighs further apart. Once they’re well spread, Jim sits back for a moment to examine the sharp red marks he’s made and to prepare for his next move.

There’s something Bones has never done to Jim in his several weeks of very vigorous and thorough topping. Something that probably wouldn’t come naturally to a medical professional, ever concerned with safety and hygiene. Something Jim really thinks Bones ought to experience.

Good thing _Jim’s_ not a medical professional.

Using his thumbs to spread Bones’ cheeks, he leans back down and sweeps his tongue over Bones’ asshole.

Bones jerks.

Jim gets in another good stroke before Bones gathers the wherewithal to lodge the inevitable protest.

“Christ, Jim, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I believe the technical term is anilingus,” Jim says. “Surely you’ve heard of it, Doctor McCoy.”

“I’ve heard about the infections it can spread. Chlamydia, herpes simplex, conjunctivitis, poliomyelitis, hepatitis A, B, _and_ C, not to mention the intestinal parasites …”

Is it wrong that this lecture is totally turning Jim on? It’s impossible to resist moving back in and dragging his tongue in a slow, tight and wet circle – a very literal rimming.

Bones’ whimper seems to be wrenched from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Heard anything about how fucking amazing it can feel?” Jim asks.

“Rumors,” Bones groans as Jim blows lightly over the skin he’s just wetted.

“Well, then, I think it’s time you had some more… _empirical_ evidence.”

Which Jim proceeds to provide through thorough demonstration of a range of techniques.

Bones proceeds to pant and whimper and sweat like a man consumed by fever.

Very sexy fever.

“Well, what do you think?” Jim asks, finally, sitting back to draw his fingers through the perspiration pooled at the base of Bones’ spine. “Worth the risk?”

“I can…see the appeal,” Bones admits, breathless.

Jim laughs. “And…?”

“And you’re coming into the hospital next week for tests.”

Jim shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “And…?”

“And if you aren’t fucking me within the next five minutes, that visit’s gonna to include a whole lot of very painful vaccinations.”

Since Jim hates shots, he takes this threat very seriously. He just doesn’t take it literally. He may have Bones wanting it, but he needs to make sure Bones is _ready_ for it. And if that takes more than five minutes, so be it.

Fifteen minutes later, when Jim is inching his way inside of Bones with the help of copious amounts of lube, Bones is so not complaining.

Well, not until Jim bottoms out and then just sits there for a minute or so, hoping to regain enough control to make things last.

“Move, damn it,” Bones groans, and Jim couldn’t refuse him for the world.

This was always going to be fantastic, Jim is sure of that, but it’s just that much better for knowing he’s the only one who’s ever been here, the only one Bones has ever trusted this much.

It’s too fantastic, really. Jim’s orgasm comes suddenly and cares nothing for Jim’s plans to make Bones come first. It will not be denied.

Jim’s hands tighten on Bones’ hips as he drives in deep one final time.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, keeping hold of Bones’ hips and staying buried inside of him. “Just give me a second.”

He lies there for a few moments, takes some deep breaths. Finally, he slips an arm under Bones’ midsection and uses the last of his strength to lift them both up, Jim sitting back on his heels and Bones sitting back against Jim’s thighs, still impaled. Jim slides his hand down Bones’ abs and wraps it around his cock. Jim manages a few slight thrusts of his hips, offering Bones’ prostate a bit more stimulation as Jim jerks him off, quick and hard.

“Good?” Jim asks a few minutes later, as he’s removing and tying off the condom.

Bones raises an eyebrow. “You have to ask?”

“Nah,” Jim says, “just fishing for compliments.”

“Ah, well, in that case,” Bones says slowly, “it was…adequate.”

“Adequate?” Jim repeats. “ _Adequate_? See if I ever bother _rocking your world_ again.”

Bones shrugs. “Well…we may want to try it again a time or two.”

“Oh? You think you could suffer through?”

“Well, I mean, you could probably use the practice. You know, see if you could make it up to ‘satisfactory’…”

“Oh, I’ll show you satisfactory,” Jim warns.

They end up wrestling their way out of bed and into Jim’s shower, which is just as unsuited for two people as Jim remembers it.

Still, they manage.

After drying each other off with only a few elbows banged into walls and towel bars, they make it back to the bedroom. Jim collapses onto the bed. Bones finds his underwear halfway under the bed and then goes for the closet door.

His tux hangs there, perfectly unrumpled.

“Don’t go,” Jim says as Bones begins to button up his white shirt.

It’s supposed to come out teasing.

But doesn’t.

Bones pulls on his pants, then his socks. He slips into his shoes. “You know I don’t want to go, but we both know that I have to.”

But, really, Jim isn’t sure _what_ he knows.

Aside from the petty sense of satisfaction he gets from the small limp in his gait as an impeccably dressed Bones walk out the door.


	15. Chapter 15

It’s late in the semester and suddenly Jim realizes he’s registered for a math class he’s never even attended. He thinks he knows where it is, but wanders the halls unable to find the door, worrying over a final exam he knows he’s not prepared for.

He thinks it might be calculus.

Just when he thinks he’s never going to make it, Gaila pulls up in front of the school like something out of a John Hughes movie. He throws his backpack in her car and hops in after it.

Sulu appears in the back and Jim looks between them, confused.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“Home,” Gaila says.

“But I don’t work there anymore,” Jim tries to explain.

“Of course you don’t,” Sulu says, laughing.

Jim doesn’t get the joke.

They pull up in front of something that looks like the Cohen’s house from the O.C., but it’s the McCoy mansion. When Jim walks in, Gaila and Sulu have disappeared, but there’s some butler there and he’s taking Jim’s things and handing him a glass of bourbon.

Jim takes it and wanders down the hall to Bones’ study.

“Hey, honey,” Bones says. “You’re home.”

Then they’re kissing.

But before things can get too heavy, Bones pulls back. “Joanna’s been waiting for you to help her with her homework.”

“Right,” Jim says, because isn’t that supposed to be his job?

“Hey, Daddy,” Joanna says, running into the room, which has somehow become the kitchen. “You’re home.”

Jim looks around, thinking she must be talking to Bones, but Bones is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says. “I hear you have some homework that needs doing.”

Things are going well, Jim thinks, but then suddenly Jocelyn appears. She’s wearing a ball gown.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Jim says.

“Don’t be silly,” she answers. “I live in the attic. It’s warm up there.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jim protests, but Jocelyn doesn’t seem perturbed.

She leads him out the kitchen and into the dining room, where she seems to be hosting a large dinner party. “Everybody,” she says, “this is Len’s lover. He’s great with children.”

People seem pleased with the introduction and are eager to make small talk. Jim keeps asking people if they don’t think this is wrong, but they don’t seem to get the question.

Finally, Jim finds an entrance to Bones’ study off of the dining room and slips into it. Bones is waiting. He’s also smoking a pipe.

“This is wrong,” Jim says. “She’s not supposed to be here. She’s supposed to hate me.”

“Why?” Bones asks. “You can’t argue with the gay. And, besides, you were fabulous with Joanna. Want a cookie?”

Jim never doesn’t want a cookie. It turns out to be very good.

_And then there’s something about an escaped moose wandering around the pool, but when Jim wakes up, he can’t remember the details…_

 

 

While in the shower, Jim finds himself taken with the sudden urge for a cookie and most of the rest of the dream comes back to him in a flash. When he gets out, his heart is pounding. He dries off and picks up his phone.

He thinks he knows who he should call. Nyota must know what this is like.

It’s not until the phone is ringing and he’s looking down at the screen that Jim sees the name “Winona.” He holds the phone up to his ear as she answers.

 _“Jim,”_ she says. _“This is a surprise.”_

It’s true, he rarely calls.

Jim swallows. “Hey, Mom.”

He tries to make his voice sound normal, but the fact that he called her ‘Mom’ is probably a dead giveaway.

 _“Oh, honey,”_ she says, _“what’s wrong?”_

They’ve never been big with small talk.

“I fucked up,” Jim tells her. “Big time.”

 _“Okay,”_ she says, without judgment. _“Wanna talk about it?”_

It turns out that Jim really, really does. He tells her everything from the beginning, but glossing over the details of the sex parts. Winona asks a clarification question now and then, but mostly just lets Jim let it all out.

He realizes she’s the only person who’s heard the whole story.

“So now we’re in this…affair, I guess,” Jim concludes. “And I don’t know what’s supposed to happen now.”

 _“And what do you_ want _to happen now?”_

Jim thinks about this for a moment.

“I want him to leave her,” he says. He guesses maybe that sounds obvious at this point, but honestly, it’s the first time he’s really admitted it to himself. “I want him to leave his wife and be with me. Does that make me an awful person?”

 _“It makes you a Kirk,”_ Winona tells him. _“We don’t fall easily, but when we do, we fall hard.”_ Her voice drops. _“And we have a hell of a time letting go.”_

Jim lets that one sink in for a moment. He thinks maybe his childhood makes more sense now. He also likes to think he’d be stronger than that.

 _“So what if he doesn’t?”_ Winona asks, bringing Jim back to the matter at hand.

“Huh?”

_“What if he doesn’t leave his wife?”_

Jim sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, I _know_ I should do the right thing, but I can’t help thinking he’s better with me. We’re good for each other.”

_“Sweetheart, I don’t know a thing about his marriage, I don’t care a thing about his wife, and no child is served by growing up in an unhappy household. The only thing I care about here is you, and as far as I’m concerned, the right thing is the one where _you_ get treated like you deserve.”_

“I don’t know if I deserve him, but I want him. All of him.” Jim squeezes his eyes shut and suddenly feels like a confused kid all over again. “Shit, Mom, tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

Winona chuckles gently. _“Not that I don’t enjoy being asked, but Jim? You haven’t needed me to tell you what to do since you were sixteen – hell, maybe not even then.”_ There’s a long pause on the line. Then: _“I know what I was – or wasn’t – when you were growing up and God knows I’d have made a mess of lesser kids, but you and Sam…. You’re too smart for your own good and stronger than you know. You’ll figure this out.”_

Jim wants to believe her, he’s just not sure that he does.

“What if I can’t give him up?” Jim whispers.

_“Baby, he was never really yours in the first place.”_

 

 

Jim psyches himself up for Bones’ next visit, prepares himself to lay things on the line, to say what he needs and not to settle for less.

But when Jim opens the door, the first words out of Bones’ mouth are, “I’m sorry.”

Jim can’t answer right away, the words of his great speech still on the tip of his tongue.

“About the other night,” Bones clarifies. “That…what we…I just…. It meant something to me, is all, and leaving right after felt…awful.”

Jim wants to be able to shrug and ask, _So what?_. Jim knows that pretty words are nothing compared to action. But still he can’t help the warmth that rushes through him.

Can’t help but respond when Bones leans in to kiss him.

Can’t help but follow Bones back to the bedroom.

 

 

As if he can sense Jim’s doubt, Bones’ visits acquire an air of desperation.

_Don’t go away._

Bones never utters the words, but they’re there in every look, every touch, every bit of praise he bestows upon Jim.

And there’s a part of Jim that craves these pleas, that feeds off of them. A part of him that loves feeling needed. A part of him that wants to promise he’ll always be around.

And then there’s the part of Jim that knows it’s not enough.

Still, he gives it just one more night.

And then another.

And another.

 

 

This time it’s past one in the morning when Bones shows up at Jim’s door, unexpected. Jim’s still awake, surfing the internet and checking his Facebook page. He answers the door in a pair of track pants.

Bones is dressed in scrubs and has bags under his eyes. His hands are shaking where they rest at his sides.

Jim steps out of the doorway and Bones trudges in.

“Just got out of an eight-hour emergency surgery,” he says. “Have to be back on shift in six hours. Mind if I crash?”

What kind of jerk would say no?

“Go ahead.”

Jim locks the door, shuts off his computer and turns out the living room lights. By the time he makes it into the bedroom, Bones is face down on the bed, fast asleep.

Jim sets the alarm for six a.m. and climbs in beside Bones. He pulls the covers up around them.

It’s their first time in a bed together where all they do is sleep.

 

 

The pre-lawn light is creeping in through Jim’s dilapidated blinds, but the alarm hasn’t gone off yet. They’re lying there in bed and Jim is writing another speech in his head. The room is so quiet Jim can hear his own heart is pounding.

He can tell Bones is wide awake beside him.

For a fleeting moment when Jim first woke up and felt Bones lying beside him, he was happy.

He was _too_ happy.

This is the time. It has to be now. But before Jim can speak, Bones breaks the silence.

“I’m going to ask Jocelyn for a divorce,” he says. “Tonight.”

They’re the very words Jim has been hoping to hear for weeks, but somehow their reality seems harsh. Jocelyn, after all, was never anything but kind and generous to Jim.

“I…” Jim says.

It’s as if Bones can read Jim’s mind. “It’s not your fault,” he assures Jim. “Our marriage has been over for a long time. It’s about time one of us found the courage to end things. All this?” Bones gestures between and around their two bodies on the bed. “Just helped me see what’s been missing.”

“Okay,” Jim says. “I’m…I’m glad.” The word seems insufficient. “Call me after you talk to her?”

“Yeah,” Bones promises. “I will.”

 

 

The day goes by. Bones is back at the hospital and Jim is in the grad student office on campus, but it’s hard for him to focus on anything.

He’s excited about having Bones to himself.

He’s nervous about actually facing a real future together.

He’s scared as hell about the fallout.

He wonders how he’ll ever face Joanna again, let alone Jocelyn.

It’s crazy, all of it, and he can’t believe it’s gone this far.

He wants it to go further.

 

 

After his afternoon class, Jim accepts a dinner invitation with some classmates, figuring Bones probably won’t be ready to call yet and wanting to keep himself distracted.

Still, he puts his phone on vibrate and keeps it in close contact to his body all through the meal.

He barely hears the conversation around him, but smiles and nods and laughs at what seem like the appropriate junctures.

Bones doesn’t call.

 

 

Jim gets home around nine and has a beer while surfing the New York Times website.

Bones doesn’t call.

Jim opens a book he’s supposed to read for one of his classes.

Bones doesn’t call.

Jim gives up on the book and watches a few episodes of some old procedural on Hulu. Even only half watching, he can always spot whodunit.

Bones doesn’t call.

Somewhere around two a.m. Jim drags himself off to bed and falls into a restless sleep.

The phone would have woken him, but it doesn’t ring.

 

 

It could be any number of things, Jim tells himself the following morning.

Bones could have gotten stuck late at the hospital. Or maybe they had to wait until Joanna went to bed. Maybe the conversation went long. Maybe there were just a lot of details to work out. Maybe it was a fight and things got vicious and the time got away from Bones and he just wasn’t up to calling Jim after.

It could be anything.

Then again, maybe he didn’t end up talking to Jocelyn. Maybe he’ll tell Jim the time just wasn’t right. Maybe the time will just never be right and Bones will keep making vague promises and Jim will keep thinking each time that maybe it’s for real and before he knows it he’ll have wasted years of his life with someone who’s never going to do the right thing.

Maybe this isn’t the right thing.

Maybe Jim’s a fool.

It’s useless to speculate. He should just call Bones himself, but he’s not quite sure which truths he’s ready to face.

 

 

It’s around noon and Jim’s staring at his thesis, typing a word here or there – erasing just as many – when the knock comes on the door.

Jim opens it and there stands Bones, looking more worn out and exhausted than he has after any impossibly long shift. Jim immediately regrets every bad thought he’s had about Bones in the last twenty-four hours. He should have realized the “conversation” with Jocelyn would be long and awful and harrowing and he wonders if Bones got any sleep at all last night.

“Bones…”

Jim reaches out to offer a comforting touch, but Bones flinches away, not letting them make contact.

Not meeting Jim’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jim.”

Jim’s lungs seem to have shrunk. He can’t breathe. “Bones…?” He doesn’t want to hear what’s coming next. He takes a reflexive step backwards.

Bones follows him in, shutting the door. He still can’t seem to look at Jim. “Jocelyn and I have decided to work on our marriage.”

“You… _what_?”

“We’ll seek some counseling, of course,” Bones explains. “Jocelyn has a friend who knows a therapist who specializes in this sort of thing. Apparently she’s usually booked solid but Joce is sure we—”

“I don’t care about the fucking therapist!” Jim suddenly finds himself shouting. “I want you to tell me what the fuck is going on here! You said your marriage was over!”

“That was before I knew the facts,” Bones begins.

“What _facts_? You said you didn’t want to be married to her anymore – what other facts do you need?”

“She hasn’t had any affairs, Jim,” Bones says. “She’s never cheated on me.”

“Yeah, I know, but so what? That doesn’t really change the fact that you like to fuck men. A lot.” Jim’s tone is getting snide, but he isn’t sorry. “Or were you thinking that’s just going to go away?”

“It doesn’t have to.” Bones looks down at the floor. “I’ve enjoyed being with Joce before. It’s been…enough.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Jim’s shouting again. “You two barely even _talk_ anymore, let alone _touch_. You admitted that you don’t even _like_ her.”

“It doesn’t matter if I like her!” Bones shouts back. “She’s my _wife_.”

Jim just blinks at Bones for a second, incredulous. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

But suddenly Bones looks distracted. “Wait a minute,” he says. “What do you mean _you know_?”

“I…uh…” Jim really doesn’t want to answer this question. “She mentioned it to me once, is all.”

“When?” Bones demands.

“At that party you had. Right before I left.”

Bones isn’t shouting anymore. His voice is low and tense. “Let me get this straight: My wife came up to you at a party and told you, out of the blue, that she’d been faithful to me our whole marriage?”

“Uh, more or less.”

“And you didn’t think that was something you should mention to me?”

Bones’ voice is full of accusation. Jim snaps.

“I didn’t think it mattered! I didn’t think you fucking me was about trying to even the score. I thought it was about – oh I don’t know – me!” His voice drops again. “Guess I’m an idiot.”

For a second, Bones looks like he might want to comfort Jim, but in the end he stays where he stands. “I’m married, Jim.”

“So you keep saying,” Jim mutters. “Tonight, anyway.”

“You don’t get it. We’ve been together almost ten years. We have a daughter. We have a house. That means something.”

“ _This_ means something,” Jim insists, gesturing between them. He feels weak and humiliated, but he has to say it.

Bones looks down again. “I made a vow, Jim, and I broke it. Can’t you understand? I owe it to everyone to try to make things right.”

“Did it ever occur to you that you can’t?”

Bones shakes his head. “I have to try.”

Jim squeezes his eyes shut and turns his back until he hears the door click closed behind him.


	16. Chapter 16

By morning, Jim has determined he’s better off without Bones.

No, _Leonard_. Leonard is a much stupider name for a much stupider guy.

Anyway, Jim is better off without _Leonard_ and so he decides to hit the bars and celebrate. He opens himself up a tab, gets a two-beer head start, and then pastes a charming smile on his face as throws himself into the fray, flirting up the proverbial storm.

Eventually he settles on a girl who works as an administrative assistant at some investment firm downtown. They end up making out in a dark corner and Jim’s sure that it’s working for him, but somehow when it comes time to say the last few words that we will get her to take him home, he just…doesn’t.

Instead, he goes home alone.

Somehow home is extra lonely.

 

The second night, which happens to be a Friday, Jim steels his resolve and hits one of the gay clubs he used to frequent. You can practically trip and fall into a blow job there, and Jim does.

Some guy from the dance floor pulls Jim into the back hall and goes down on him (amid other pairs of men doing the same), but Jim’s distracted and it takes awhile for him to come. When the guy stands up afterwards, he’s bitching about the ache in his jaw and clearly looking for Jim to return the favor, but when Jim pictures it in his head, he doesn’t want it. Jim knows he’s being an asshole, but he thanks the guy and walks away.

He ends up leaving half an hour later.

 

In the sober light of morning, Jim decides he must not be ready for guys yet.

In the slightly less sober dim of evening, he decides to return to Thursday’s straight bar and to make sure someone takes him home this time. A steady flow of additional alcohol keeps him on course and he ends up in the tasteful but Spartan apartment of a molecular biologist.

Unfortunately, he’s overshot the mark and by the time he gets to her place the alcohol has rendered him unfit for much more than passing out on her bed. The woman assures him it’s okay, tells him sometimes it’s nice just not to have to sleep alone.

This used to be the kind of thing that freaked Jim out.

Now he kind of gets it.

Still, he wakes up a few hours later with a strong urge to sneak out. He starts to move and her breath hitches a little and suddenly he can’t bring himself to do it.

He closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

 

 

In the morning, she asks him if he wants to get some breakfast.

He starts to make an excuse, but she stops him with a raised hand and a sympathetic smile. “Trust me, I’m not expecting this to lead anywhere. You just got dumped, didn’t you?”

“What?” Jim starts to play it off, but then decides there’s no point in denying it. “How did you know?”

“It’s written all over your face.”

“Oh.”

“Anonymous sex isn’t really going to help, you know. Especially if you have to drink so much to psych yourself up that you don’t even manage to _have_ it.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Jim mutters. “But, anyway, I wasn’t trying to—” Jim gives up on the lie. What he really needs is info. “Okay, why not?”

She laughs. “Seriously?”

He nods.

“Well, has it ever worked for you before?”

Jim just looks at her.

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me this is your first time being dumped?”

It feels like it should be a point of pride, but somehow Jim’s a bit ashamed to be admitting, “Um, kinda.”

She shakes her head. “Okay, this is going to take a while.” She grabs her jacket. “And it’s going to require coffee.”

 

Half an hour later, they’re ensconced in a booth at her local diner, sipping steamy coffee out of white mugs as they peruse the menu. Jim orders eggs, bacon and hash browns – enough grease to drown his hangover. She orders an omelet.

“So,” she says, once the waitress has left, “you’ve really never been dumped before?”

Jim shrugs and smirks. “Well, l mean, _look_ at me.”

“ _Listen_ to you,” she fires back.

Jim laughs. “Touché.” He puts his elbows on the table and leans toward her. “So, then, instruct me. Breakup 101.”

“Alright, well, the first thing you have to do…”

“Should I be taking notes?” Jim quips, flattening his still-folded napkin on the table in front of him and snatching a ballpoint pen from the waitress’s apron when she leans over to refill their coffees.

“…is let yourself be mad.”

 _Step 1 – Mad,_ Jim writes on his napkin. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” she says, “but really give it free rein, you know? She’s stupid, she never should have let you go, she wasted your time, it’s all her fault, et cetera, et cetera.”

“He, actually,” Jim says.

She doesn’t blink. “It’s all _his_ fault, then. Same rule applies.”

“The thing is, I’m not sure it _is_ all his fault,” Jim admits. “I mean, I knew what I was getting—”

“ _See_?” she says, pointing at him with her coffee spoon. “That’s exactly the sort of thinking you’re _not_ supposed to be doing here. Don’t be reasonable, don’t try to see his side, just let yourself be mad. For you.”

“He’s an asshole,” Jim says, jotting down the word _asshole_ in his napkin margins. “Got it.”

“Good. Then, you let yourself be sad.”

“That sounds like a lot less fun,” Jim points out.

“It is,” she agrees, “but the sadness is always there under the anger and at some point you’ve just got to dwell in it a bit. You don’t really want to move on at this point; you just want things to go back to the way they were. And even though you know they’re not going to go back and that you’re going to have to move on eventually, give yourself some time to mourn first.”

 _Step 2 – Sad,_ Jim writes.

“You may end up back at mad at some point and then back at sad again and so on. That’s natural. Let it happen.”

 _Step 3,_ Jim writes. _Repeat steps 1 and 2 as necessary._ He looks down at the napkin and grimaces. “So, when do I get to start the moving on part?”

“Well, it’s not an exact science, but sometimes it helps to think about things in your life that you might have let fall by the wayside during your relationship. Figure out the ways he was holding you back and use him being gone as an opportunity.”

“That’s what I was trying to do last night,” Jim says.

“No,” she corrects, “last night you were running away from things. Try running towards something, instead.”

“Like what?”

“Well, what were you doing before you met him?”

Jim thinks back to that night. “Banging my head against a curriculum development paper. I’m really not planning to go back to that.”

She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mean _right_ before. But you’re studying to be a teacher, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you enjoy it?”

“When there are actual kids involved, sure.”

“So throw yourself into that for a little while. Blaze through your degree. Do something for your future.”

“So Step Four is ‘Work on my thesis’? Did my advisor pay you to say that?”

She shrugs. “Or you could go to the gym. Work up a sweat, get out your head.”

 _Step 4 – Finish thesis (or go to the Gym)_ , Jim writes, nearly at the end of his napkin. “What then?” he asks.

“That’s pretty much it. You give yourself some time to dwell, then you fake moving on until you realize you’ve actually moved on.”

Jim reviews the napkin. “So, basically, I’ve got, ‘Feel really bad and then write your thesis.’ Gotta say, this whole breakup thing is sounding pretty shitty.”

“Oh, wow,” she says. “That’s so insightful. You should write a song about that or something.”

Jim gives her his sad face.

“Anyway,” she says, “that’s why you need friends – not random hookups – to help you through it.”

“So, which step is that? Hang out and depress my friends?”

She shakes her head at him. “Friends aren’t really a step. They’re more like…enzymes. They wait for the right moment in your process and then they catalyze. You need to bum around on your couch for awhile, but you also need someone to kick your ass off your couch when the moment is right.”

Jim considers this, tries to think who in his life would be right for the job.

Spock would be great if it was about monitoring a _real_ chemical reaction, but his emotional instincts can be a little wacky.

Nyota would definitely be good for the ass-kicking (and, hell, maybe for the wallowing, too, given the circumstances), but Brooklyn’s kind of a long way from Jim’s couch.

Jim’s fellow grad students are around, sure, but they’re more pals than confidantes.

“What if I don’t have any friends?” Jim asks.

Except the two who would be perfect, and whom he knows he can’t call.

Not for this.

“A guy like you? I find that hard to believe.”

Jim shrugs. “Yeah, sure, I’m good with people. I’m just not so great with letting them get close.”

She seems to consider this for a second, then nods. “Yeah, I get that. Pull out your phone, I’ll give you my number.”

Jim pulls out his phone, selects to add a contact, then hesitates. He looks across the table.

Her eyes narrow. “You don’t remember my name, do you?”

“Uh…” Jim says. “I was really really drunk?”

For a second, Jim thinks she’s genuinely pissed. Then a smiles breaks across her face.

“I’m Carol,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Jim Kirk.”

Jim reaches across the table to shake her hand. He enters her number in his phone and insists on paying the check.

As he’s standing up to go, he slips the napkin into his pocket.

 

 

 

 

So Jim does the mad.

He assures himself that Leonard made the wrong decision, not the noble one. He knows that Leonard’s marriage is over – even if Leonard won’t admit it – and if Leonard wants to sentence himself and his wife to a life of misery, that’s their business, but he’s got no fucking right to drag Jim down with them.

Jim refuses to be miserable.

 

 

Except that he’s miserable.

He lies on his couch and watches movies on his laptop and dodges calls and emails from Gaila and Hikaru that he wishes he could answer. He thinks about how he’ll never find someone who just _fits_ the way Bones seemed to and knows that if Bones would just walk through the door again, Jim would take him back in a heartbeat.

Sometimes he has a few too many beers and picks up the phone and goes to call Bones, certain that James Tiberius Kirk can convince anyone of anything once he sets his mind to it.

But he makes himself call Carol instead.

She’s a morning person and a workaholic, so sometimes he gets up at the ass-crack of dawn just to meet her for breakfast.

It’s always worth it.

Sometimes she lets him wallow. Other times she gives him a kick in the ass that sends him back into the mad.

 

 

He cycles through a few times.

Mad, sad. Sad, mad.

The napkin, now pinned to his fridge with a magnet, lets him know it’s okay.

 

 

Eventually, as Thanksgiving break looms on the horizon, general grad school anxiety sends Jim tumbling into Step Four. He and his thesis spend long, late evenings together in his office or sometimes the library. Jim makes a habit of not going home until he knows he’ll fall asleep the second he hits the pillow.

It’s the best sleep he’s gotten in months.

And each morning, when he wakes up, he starts it all over again. It’s sort of a wretched existence, one day bleeding into another, but he’s getting a lot done and keeping his mind occupied – hell, he even thinks he _likes_ his thesis sometimes – and at this point he’s not asking for much more.

Well, maybe one thing…

 _Am I allowed to have sex yet?_ he texts Carol one night as he’s leaving the library.

 _You’re asking me?_ she texts back.

_Last I checked, you had strong feelings on the subject._

_So if I say no, you’re going to listen?_

_I’d consider it,_ Jim admits. Her advice has served him well so far. Of course, the right hand is getting really old. _That was hypothetical, right?_ Jim adds.

_So I control your sex life now? Kinky!_

_Haha,_ Jim writes back. _Answer please._

He waits with bated breath for the final text.

 _Go forth,_ it says. _Try not to multiply._

 

 

Jim has missed sex.

They have a heartfelt reunion.

 

 

Jim stays in Boston and works through Thanksgiving break. The campus is eerily quiet, but utterly free of distraction.

Jim is in The Zone.

He exits The Zone on Thursday evening to answer a call from his mom. They actually have a pleasant chat. He tells her all about his thesis, something he’s never really bothered to do before.

Eventually, she asks what happened with his “situation.”

“It’s over,” Jim says. “I don’t really want to talk about.”

She tells him she’s sorry and then lets it drop.

 

Sam calls later on to wish Jim a happy Thanksgiving and to invite him to their place for Christmas.

“Maybe you should invite Mom this year,” Jim suggests, almost before he realizes he’s going to.

_“You’re kidding, right?”_

“We’re all human,” Jim says. “We all make mistakes.”

_“No, Jim.”_

“Can’t you at least think about it? I know it would mean a lot to her.”

_“This isn’t about her. This is about my family. And I decided long ago that she lost her right to be a part of it. I’ve made my peace, so let it go.”_

“You’re right,” Jim says after a moment. “It’s your call. Tell Aurelan and the kids that I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it this year.”

_“Jim…”_

“I love you, Sam, and I’m going to miss you guys, but it’s just something I’ve got to do.”

 

 

It’s halfway through December when Jim gets a loud text from Hikaru.

_LOOK ASSHOLE, I KNOW YOU’VE BEEN AVOIDING US, BUT GAILA GOES BACK TO IRELAND NEXT WEEK. MEET US AT THE GALWAY ON FRIDAY TO AT LEAST SAY GOODBYE._

The news surprises Jim, but he guesses visas don’t last forever. He wishes now that he’d sucked it up and answered her phone calls, but there’s not much he can do about it at this point.

Well, just one thing.

 _I’ll be there,_ he replies.

 

 

The bar is crowded when Jim arrives. Gaila’s bright red hair makes her easy to spot, but she’s surrounded by friends and admirers. Hikaru’s off to the side a bit, so Jim heads for him.

“Hey, man,” Jim says, laying a hand on Hikaru’s shoulder to get his attention.

He turns. “Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim says. “I suck. I know. I wanted to see you guys – you have no idea how much. It’s just…I mean….fuck it.” He has the din of the bar to protect his confession. “You knew about me and Bo—Doctor McCoy, right?”

Hikaru nods. “It was kind of hard to miss.”

Jim feels a flush of embarrassment. Or maybe humiliation. “Yeah, well, after he, um, broke things off, I kinda needed to…get a little distance, you know?”

Hikaru frowns. “Wait a minute – so you two aren’t—?”

Jim shakes his head.

“Wow,” Hikaru says. “I mean, I just assumed—”

“Jim!” Hikaru’s cut off as Gaila throws herself into Jim’s arms. “You fucking bastard,” she says against his ear as she squeezes him tight.

Jim squeezes back, and not only because he can’t help but appreciate the press of her breasts against his chest. Truth be told, it just feels good to be held.

Less good is the sharp jolt of her boot toe against his shin as she pulls back and then kicks him. “That’s for not calling like you promised you would.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Jim says, shaking off the pain in his leg. “I’m sorry, things just got—”

“I love this song,” Gaila declares. “Let’s dance.”

 

It feels incredibly good – laughing, dancing, drinking with Gaila and Hikaru. He slides against them on the dance floor; Gaila shoves at him when he teases her about a guy mooning over her from across the room; his fingers brush Hikaru’s as Jim passes him a beer.

They touch easily, warmly, and Jim hasn’t felt so free – so loved – in months.

He was so sure he couldn’t handle seeing them after the breakup, but now he wonders if he’s really been denying himself the thing he needed most.

Jim and Hikaru outlast all Gaila’s other friends. At the end of the night, it’s just the three of them sitting together in a relatively quiet back booth, catching each other up on their lives.

“When do you leave?” Jim asks Gaila.

“Next week,” she says. “I’ll be home in time for Christmas.”

Jim turns to Hikaru. “So what are you going to do all alone in the mansion without your partner in crime?”

Hikaru shrugs. “Well, it’s just a few weeks. I’ll be heading back to California in January. And thank fuck for that – I’ve had just about as much winter as I can handle.”

Jim frowns. “You’re leaving, too?”

Gaila and Hikaru exchange a look. They glance at Jim and then back at each other.

“What?” Jim says. “Is something going on?”

Hikaru looks across the table at Jim, his expression almost apologetic. “We thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“They’re letting all the staff go,” Gaila explains. “The house is for sale.”

“What? Where are they going?” Not that Jim cares.

“ _They’re_ not going anywhere,” Hikaru says. “McCoy moved out last week. They’ve separated.”


	17. Chapter 17

Jim manages to hold it together until he’s said goodnight to Hikaru and goodbye to Gaila. He hails a cab, but when he gets in, he can’t bring himself to give his own address. His fingers are shaking as he dials his phone.

 _“Heh—ahem—hello?”_ Carol clearly wasn’t still up.

It _is_ three in the morning, after all.

“Hey, it’s me,” Jim says.

_“Jim? What are you—? It’s three in the morning.”_

“I know. I’m sorry. I just— Can I come over?”

_“Now?”_

“Please?”

_“Okay, fine. But this better be good.”_

 

Apparently, it’s good enough, because as soon as Jim tells her what he’s learned, she ushers him inside and starts brewing a pot of coffee.

“I’m sorry, Jim. This really sucks.”

Jim runs a hand through his hair, and then accepts the coffee mug she’s offering. “I just feel so…I don’t know. It’s just… Argh.”

“You’re hurt,” Carol suggests.

“I guess. I mean, yeah, of course. It’s just…I can’t believe it.”

“Are you really so surprised? You said you knew their marriage was over.”

Jim shakes his head. “No, of course not. It’s not that. It’s just…I mean, how could he let me find out like this?”

“How else were you supposed to find out? Did you expect him to just call you up?”

“Yes!” Jim says. “He should have told me!” The anger collapses as quick as it came. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

Carol sighs and rubs a hand along Jim’s shoulder. “He broke up with you, remember? He doesn’t exactly have the right to consult you on decisions anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Jim insists, not caring if it’s not rational. “He still should have told me.”

A quiet moment passes.

“You’re right,” Carol says softly. “You deserve better.”

With the validation, the wind leeches slowly out of Jim’s sails, leaving him collapsed against the couch. “Thanks,” he says. “I guess I should head home now.”

“It’s late,” Carol says, squeezing Jim’s arm. “You can stay if you want.”

Jim looks down at her hand and then up at her face and thinks that she’s pretty and smart and funny and the kind of girl you could really get serious about. He knows they must have kissed that first night, but he can barely remember it. He thinks maybe he wants to know what it’s like.

His eyes are open.

He starts to lean toward her and she doesn’t lean away.

She opens her mouth…

“If McCoy called you right now and told you he’d left his wife for good and only wanted you, would you go running over there?”

Jim’s eyes fall closed. “Yes,” he whispers.

Carol leans back and stands up. “I’ll get you a pillow and some sheets.”

She returns a minute later, dropping the linens on the couch next to Jim.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says.

“It’s cool,” Carol says. “I’m just not a masochist.”

“I have to get over him someday, right? Maybe after we could…”

She shakes her head. “It’s no good, anyway. I’m married to my career.”

“So you don’t want a family some day? Couple of kids, house in the suburbs?”

Carol rolls her eyes at him. “Not all women do, you know.”

“I know,” Jim says. “Sometimes I think it wouldn’t be so bad, is all.”

Carol shrugs. “Sometimes I can picture a kid. It’s the husband I can’t quite feature. I mean, hey, if you ever want to loan me a gamete or two, let me know.”

Jim laughs and Carol disappears into her bedroom. Jim arranges the sheets and lays his head on the pillow, but it still takes him a long time to fall asleep.

 

 

 

Jim spends the next week finishing up the semester’s coursework. Every time his phone rings, he thinks (hopes) it will be Bones.

But it never is.

 

 

 

Jim spends the last week of December in Iowa. His mother still lives in the old farmhouse Jim grew up in and Jim thinks she probably spends more time there now than she ever did back then.

It’s awkward at first, as usual, and Jim spends a day or two brooding in his room like a teenager, only coming out for meals. Winona is cooking, which means she’s trying, but Jim can’t quite find the energy to meet her halfway. She tries sometimes to ask him how things are going, but Jim doesn’t offer much more than one-word answers.

Christmas Eve rolls around and Jim rolls downstairs at about two in the afternoon, having hit a local bar the night before. He’d run into some high school classmates there and managed to shoot the shit for a few hours, but in the end it only made him more thankful to have gotten out of this place.

Winona has made some cranberry bread. Jim grabs a plate and cuts himself a couple of slices, slathering them with butter. He pours himself a glass of orange juice, figures he’ll come back for the coffee in a minute, and starts toward the living room to plop himself down in front of the TV.

Winona is standing in his path, blocking his way.

And holding two decks of cards.

“Sit down,” she says, nodding toward the kitchen table.

It’s not a question.

Jim sits.

“You still remember how to play?” Winona asks, taking each deck out of its box and shuffling them together.

“Yeah,” Jim says. The slap of the cards is familiar, as is the shape of her hands as she makes a bridge. It’s one of the happiest memories of his childhood.

Winona shuffles a few more times, then deals them each fifteen cards. Jim picks up his hand, places a three of hearts on the table in front of him, draws a new card from the stock and then organizes the cards by number.

Canasta.

Winona taught Jim and Sam how to play as soon as they were old enough to remember rules, and it’s always been “their game.” The one thing they could do together even when no one wanted to talk. Something to distract them enough to talk when necessary.

Checking that Winona is ready, Jim draws two cards from the deck and fits them into his hand, discarding a four of spades.

Winona draws two cards of her own and discards an eight of diamonds.

They carry on a bit in the same fashion, with a couple more tempting cards being added to the discard pile. Finally, Winona lays down a ten and Jim is able to pick up the pile, melding the ten with two others and an ace.

“You _do_ remember,” Winona remarks.

“Told you so,” Jim says.

“Did I ever tell you about meeting your father?” Winona asks, as she draws once more from the stock.

“You were living in Annapolis and he was at the Naval Academy,” Jim supplies.

The truth is, Winona hardly ever spoke of George Kirk while he and Sam were growing up, but they’d carefully gathered those few scraps of information she had revealed and committed them to memory by whispering them back and forth to each other at night.

Jim holds his breath, waiting for her to continue.

“Yeah, I was enrolled at St. John’s and living at home, wishing I could be anywhere else. Your Aunt Allison, who was six years older than me, had dropped out of high school in her senior year and moved to San Francisco. Mom and Dad weren’t really speaking to her, but she would call me sometimes and tell me all about her adventures. I wanted to be that brave, but I guess someone had to be the good girl. So I stayed home and went to college.”

Winona picks up the pile, organizes its cards and lays down two melds and a natural canasta, putting herself firmly back in the game.

“Anyway, growing up in Annapolis, I didn’t exactly have a thing for men in uniform. I hated the whole institution. I might not have gotten to be a real hippie, but I considered myself a dedicated, if somewhat closeted pacifist. Vietnam was over, but it was still the Cold War and I was convinced it was all total bullshit. I liked to lie around in my room and drive my parents crazy by listening endlessly to John Lennon.”

Jim smiles. He draws his cards, glances at them, and scowls as he discards. But his mind isn’t really on the game anymore anyway.

“The co-eds around town always attracted a fair amount of attention from the cadets when they were let off the Academy grounds. I studiously ignored even the handsome ones on principle, but my best friend Mary Ann had no such scruples. So, one day, she cornered me after class and told me she’d met the most amazing cadet and that he wanted to take her out. I was totally against the idea, but once I realized she’d be going with or without me, I knew I didn’t want to let her go alone. So she arranged for the guy to bring a friend.”

Jim discards a wild card to freeze the pile. “So that was Dad? The friend from the double date?”

“Actually, your dad was the guy who asked Mary Ann out.”

“Mom!” Jim teases, exaggerating his genuine surprise. “You man-stealing whore!”

Winona laughs. “Believe me, I didn’t want to want to have anything to do with him. But there was something there between us right from the start. That spark, you know?” And yeah, Jim totally does know. “I was prepared to ignore it – for Mary Ann’s sake, though she’d already moved on to the next guy – but George wasn’t about to let me. He was very persistent, sending me flowers, singing outside of my window, and all kinds of other embarrassing stunts.”

“Seriously?”

“Your father was a ridiculous romantic. Of course, the best part was how much my parents hated it. Which is what really finally convinced me to give him a chance.”

“Not because you liked him or anything.”

Winona grins. “No, of course not. Not that it mattered about my parents – he won them over eventually. He was charming. A little bit of bluster, but a lot of sincerity. You remind me of him that way.” She looks across the table at Jim for a long moment. “You remind me of him a lot.”

“Is that why you had so much trouble sticking around and spending time with me?” Jim asks softly, blinking a bit against the moisture that’s suddenly appeared in his eyes.

Winona bites her lip and nods. “I suppose that was a big part of it.”

There’s a silence between them and neither moves a hand or a card.

“Keep going,” Jim says finally. “I want to hear it.”

Winona draws her cards and continues their game. “When I let myself get to know him, it turned out we weren’t so different. We both wanted to travel and see the world. He’d figured the navy would be a great way to get someone else to foot the bill. Also, he really wanted to be a pilot. He knew how to make me laugh and was smart enough to keep up with me in any discussion. Before I knew it, I had fallen hard.”

Jim draws and gets the cards he needs. He lays down everything in his hand. Winona grabs a small note pad, taking down first her own score for the round and then Jim’s. Jim gathers up the cards and begins to shuffle. Winona continues her story.

“We both graduated in ’79. We were twenty-two. I thought that was way too young to get married, but the only way I was going to get to go along to flight training was with a ring on my finger, so we went ahead with it. We went down to Corpus Christi first, then to Mississippi, then back to Texas. It was actually neat to see parts of the country I hadn’t seen before, but being a Navy wife took some getting used to. You couldn’t really start a career of your own because you moved around too much. Most of the other wives had kids or were pregnant or were obsessed with getting pregnant. George and I – especially I – had decided to wait.”

Winona pauses for a moment to pick up her cards and organize her hand. She draws and discards and continues.

“So, finally, training was over. George had a knack for flying – he was top of his class – so when he requested an overseas posting, they were more than happy to comply. We spent a year and a half in Japan and then two in Italy. It was so beautiful there. I started learning Italian; I took cooking classes; I spent days at a time in museums and old churches. I never wanted to leave…”

Winona trails off.

“So what happened?” Jim asks. “They assigned him elsewhere?”

“No.” Winona sighs. “I got pregnant. Your father _asked_ for reassignment.”

“What, no hospitals in Italy?”

“Plenty. And I was all for staying, but your father was determined that his kids not end up Navy brats. He didn’t want you having to change places and friends and schools every couple of years. He believed children needed stability, and stability for him had always meant Iowa. His parents and your Uncle Frank still lived around here, so we’d have family nearby. And, honestly, I think he thought it was wholesome.”

“Wholesome?” Jim thinks of all the drinking he and his friends did in high school, all the stupid shit they used to do in pickup trucks and old barns.

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly what I’d always dreamed of, but then there were my parents’ voices in my ear telling me that traditional values were the best thing for children and that good parents sacrificed for their kids.”

“So you sacrificed.”

“I didn’t seem so bad at first. George was so certain it was the right thing to do that it pushed the doubts out of my mind. And when Sam was born, he was so beautiful and I _did_ want to give him everything. I thought I would be happy.”

“But you weren’t,” Jim says. He knows that.

“Your father and I had never actually lived apart before. It didn’t take me long to realize how much I hated it, how lonely I was with no one but a baby and a few of George’s relatives to talk to. When he came home on leave, it was fantastic, but every time he left again, it just felt worse. And then, when Sam was just over a year old, I found out I was pregnant with you.”

Jim looks down at his cards. “Well that must have sucked,” he mutters.

“Oh no, honey, no.” Winona reaches across the table to lay a hand on Jim’s wrist and squeeze. “I wanted you. I wanted you very much. I just… When I found out, I realized that something was going to have to change. I wasn’t going to do this on my own anymore. I couldn’t. I was about five months pregnant when George’s next leave rolled around and I finally confronted him. I let him know that I wasn’t happy and couldn’t go on that way. I was so scared to lay down to the ultimatum, but he agreed almost instantly. He’d hated it, too, being away from Sam, the idea of missing your early days. We decided it was time for a career change.”

“So he was going to quit the Navy? Just like that?”

“Well, I knew he still owed time on his Academy education and the flight training, but he told me he had worked something out, that they’d give him a desk job. He had all kinds of ideas for improving flight simulators and training modules, and he figured he could do a lot of it from Iowa. And all he had to do was carry out one last mission…”

“I guess that’s the one he didn’t come back from.”

Winona nods. “In retrospect, I knew it must be dangerous. I mean, why else would they be bribing him to do it? But on the other hand, he was such a good pilot and I wanted him back with me – with us – so badly. He was going to be home a couple weeks before you were due. He’d be holding my hand at the hospital.”

“Only he never made it,” Jim whispers.

“No,” Winona echoes, “he never did. I know it sounds weird, but I knew. I knew the very minute it happened. I felt something clench inside my chest like my heart was breaking and I couldn’t breathe. And then suddenly the pain was lower and I realized, even though it wasn’t time yet, that I was in labor. I called Frank and he rushed over and drove me to the hospital. You came pretty quickly – not like Sam – but it hurt more than I remembered. I don’t know if it was you or if George was suffering. The officers found me in the hospital the next day and gave me my flag. A poor trade-off, if you ask me.”

There are tears in both of their eyes.

“You never told us what happened to him,” Jim says.

“That’s because _I_ was never told. Considering the timing, I’d guess it had something to do with the Action in the Gulf of Sidra, but whatever your father’s role, it was on the covert side of the conflict. All they ever told me is that he was hero, that he’d saved a lot of lives. Never was much comfort.”

“You must have missed him,” Jim says, really getting it, maybe for the first time.

“Yeah, of course that was at the heart of it all, but in the weeks and months after you were born, I started getting angrier and angrier with him. It was his fault I had to raise you two all alone; it was his fault I wasn’t getting any sleep; it was his fault I had to go out and find a job and leave you and Sam with your grandparents when you weren’t even one year old. I hated Riverside – I always had – but he had wanted so badly for you boys to be raised there, it felt like leaving would be a betrayal. And I was mad at him for that, too.”

Winona sighs and picks up the discard pile. She studies her hand for a moment, puts down a couple of melds and discards.

“Anyway, I ended up with a secretary job at this pharmaceutical company in Iowa City. And I hated it, too. This was what I went to college for? To end up alone in Iowa trying to take care of two kids on a secretary’s salary? So, one day I’m sitting at my desk and a couple of the detail men are exchanging tips about getting in with doctors, and I’m thinking it doesn’t sound so hard. I was smart enough to memorize all the information and even to know what it meant. I’d done well in my science classes. There weren’t really any women in the job at the company at the time, but it occurred to me that I wasn’t so old for a mother of two and that if I cleaned myself up a bit, I’d have a…skill for getting male doctors to give me a few minutes of their time.”

Jim tries not to think too hard about the nature of such a “skill.” This is his _mom_ , after all.

“So I thought it through, read through a bunch of company materials, and came up with a pitch for Mr. Anderson, who was in charge of the reps. I borrowed a bit of money from Frank, got a fresh haircut, bought some good makeup and a couple new outfits. And then one morning, I just walked into Anderson’s office and refused to take no for an answer.”

“Wow, Mom.” Jim’s never quite realized before how much of his mother he has in him.

“It felt good. It felt _so_ good to be in control of my life for once. I was confident and determined and I was going to be the best damn detail ‘man’ the company had ever seen. Of course, it meant travel. Mr. Anderson had been so sure that when he mentioned the travel, I was going to have to admit that detailing was no place for women, but I didn’t even flinch. I knew what I was doing – or thought I did, anyway. And I was good at it. I started making really good money. Not as much as the men, but a hell of a lot more than the secretaries.”

Winona bites her lip again, another mannerism Jim knows he picked up.

“I could tell you that’s why I did it – as a sacrifice so that I could take care of you and Sam – but that’s only half of the truth. I _liked_ the job. I liked getting out of Iowa and meeting interesting people and being my own successful, independent person. And I told myself I had a right to feel that way and that you and Sam were fine with your grandparents and then with Frank.”

“We hated Frank,” Jim says.

Winona closes her eyes. “I know. He wasn’t like your father. He was set in his ways and didn’t really have much practice showing affection. I see that now. Or at least I finally admitted it to myself. Back then, though…. It wasn’t until you two were teenagers and acting out and barely speaking to me that I realized what I’d given up, but by that point I had no idea how to get any of it back.”

Jim wants to tell her that it’s okay, but he knows that it isn’t. “You could have tried.”

“I _should_ have tried,” Winona agrees. “God, Jim, I wasted so many years being angry at George for leaving me in a life I came to believe I’d never really wanted. And I spent so much time running away from that life when what I should have been doing was making it work for me. For us. I should have moved us out of Riverside. I should have found a job I could love that wouldn’t take me away from you all the time. I should have talked to you about the kind of man your father was and the kind of men I hoped you two would be…”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. You are, though. You’re both those kind of men, and I’m so, so proud of you.” She looks Jim in the eyes. “Thanks for coming home this holiday.”

Jim nods. “Thanks for telling me all of this. It must have been hard.”

“It was. Things didn’t turn out the way I wanted them to, but you should know, I don’t regret it. I don’t regret meeting or marrying your father and I don’t regret having his beautiful children.” Winona takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Also,” she says, “read ’em and weep.”

She lays down her cards with an evil grin and reaches for the score pad.

Jim laughs.


	18. Chapter 18

January is a good month.

Jim starts his teaching practicum with a third grade class in a great public school – his first choice. He’s got fifteen students and he loves every one of them – especially the troublemakers.

He and his supervising teacher, Angie, get on famously; she offers to take a look at his thesis and then actually suggests they try implementing a few of his recommendations, giving Jim excellent material to add to the work.

This, Jim thinks, is the distraction he’s been looking for. He’s doing something he genuinely loves and he’s doing it very well. When he thinks about Bones, now, he tries to be philosophical. Didn’t he do exactly what he set out to do in the first place? He gave Bones something fun. Something hot. Something bea—better than his marriage.

And so what if Bones chose the marriage in the end? Ending the marriage was never Jim’s plan. Jim just wanted to get Bones out of his system.

Which, okay, isn’t exactly what happened, but here’s Jim anyway and Bones is gone and Jim thinks he’s learned something.

He’s learned that he’s a Kirk. That he’s capable of falling and falling hard.

But he also knows he’s made of sterner stuff than his mother was back then and that he’s not going to let all this derail his life. His life is now firmly re-railed.

He’s doing well professionally. He’s spending time with friends. He’s even making it to the gym on occasion.

He thinks maybe it’s time to try dating.

 

 

Of course, Jim’s never really done the whole dating thing.

Not since high school.

Hell, even in high school he was more of a _“Hey, baby, wanna go park in a cornfield?”_ kind of guy. “Dinner and a movie” remains a bit of a foreign concept.

Still, you don’t know until you try.

 

 

“I tried so many times to steer the conversation away from his cats,” Jim tells Angie in the teacher’s lounge one morning in April, just after Spring Break. “I should have known when I called and he had his cats’ names on his voicemail. Like, seriously, your cat’s going to answer your cell phone? Or be checking it for his messages?”

“Wow,” Angie says, “sounds…”

“Long,” Jim supplies. “Long would be a word for it. Or, you know, mind-numbingly boring.” Jim sighs, then shrugs. “I did eventually manage to shut him up, though.”

“Oh,” Angie asks, “how?”

Jim waggles his eyebrows. “How do you think?”

Jim hasn’t let the fact that he’s open to something more serious put a damper on his sex life.

Angie slaps Jim on the arm. “You’re terrible, Jim.” She breaks into a grin. “And I love it. Don’t ever change. We old married folk need someone through whom to live vicariously.” She stands up and grabs the coffee pot off the counter, refilling both their mugs. “Now,” she says, “details…”

Before Jim can feed too far into Angie’s unnatural obsession with “man-on-man action,” the vice principal walks into the lounge. Jim and Angie quickly pretend to be talking about the weather.

“See, there was this thing that he…said about a cold front coming in. Sounds brutal.”

“God, I hate April snow,” Angie says. She pretends to look up for the first time. “Oh, good morning, Ms. Chan.”

“Good,” Ms. Chan says, “you’re both here. You’re getting a new student today. Her parents just moved into the district, but they’re certain she won’t mind the school change. Her name is Joanna McCoy. Her father wasn’t able to make it in this morning, but her mother is here and would like to meet you two.”

Angie pushes back her chair and stands. “Jim?” she says when he remains seated in his chair. “Jim, are you alright?”

Jim stands up because he realizes that’s what he’s supposed to do and follows Angie and Ms. Chan out into the hall. His head having filled with white noise as soon as he heard the name “Joanna McCoy,” Jim half expects to see Bones standing out there. When he realizes it’s just Jocelyn and Joanna, the rest of Ms. Chan’s words flash through his mind. _Her parents just moved into the district_.

Parent _s_? Does that mean together?

Before Jim has much time to wonder, Joanna has recognized him. “Jim!” she cries, bolting from her place glued to her mother’s side, and wrapping her arms around Jim’s waist in a tight hug.

“Hey there, kiddo,” Jim says, hugging her back.

“You know each other?” Ms. Chan asks.

“Yeah, I tutored Joanna last summer,” Jim says. He looks over Joanna’s head to her mother. “It’s good to see you again, Joce—” The look in her eyes stops Jim cold. “Er, uh, Mrs. McCoy. Um, welcome to our school.”

“Mr. Kirk,” Jocelyn acknowledges, with the barest tilt of her head. She does not remark on how she feels about seeing Jim again.

 _Oh, god,_ Jim thinks, _she knows. She so obviously knows._

“Well, I’m Angela Easton,” Angie says into the brief awkward silence. “I’m the teacher in charge of the Joanna’s class. And Jim here is our student teacher for this term.”

“I see,” Jocelyn says.

Ms. Chan, obviously feeling the chill, lowers her voice a bit. “That won’t be a problem, will it? I assure you, all our student teachers are exceptionally qualified.”

Joanna, also picking up on the tension, takes a step away from Jim and looks over at her mother. “Mom?”

“No, of course not.” Jocelyn shakes her head and offers a very forced smile. “Both Joanna and my husband were quite fond of Mr. Kirk. It seems he’s very good at what he does.”

Jim swallows and looks down at the very interesting floor. “You know, I should get over to the classroom and make sure we’re set for the day. I’ll see you in a few minutes, Joanna. And thank you for coming by, Mrs. McCoy.”

“It’s Darnell,” Jocelyn says.

“Hmm?” Jim asks.

“Ms. Darnell,” Jocelyn repeats. “That’s my name.”

 _Oh,_ Jim thinks.

 

 

“So,” Angie asks Jim while their kids are with the music teacher, “did you have an affair with Joanna McCoy’s dad?”

Jim doesn’t bother to feign outrage. He looks Angie in the eye. “Ask yourself if you really want to know the answer to that question.”

“Duh,” Angie says. “Yes!”

“Angie, she’s a student in your class, in _our_ class…”

Angie considers this for a moment and sighs. “Fine, you’re right. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

 

 

“Okay,” Angie says later that afternoon once all the kids have been picked up, “I don’t want to _know_ , but I _definitely_ want to imagine.”

“Huh?” Jim asks. He’s just gotten back from the principal’s office, where Mr. Murphy was signing off on some paperwork for Jim’s department.

“Doctor McCoy was just here to pick up Joanna,” Angie explains. “The man is fucking edible.”

Jim automatically looks around for any children who might want to take this choice new language home to share with their parents.

Angie waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry, they’re all gone. We’re totally free to discuss the good doctor and his considerable assets.”

“Wait a minute,” Jim says, his brain finally catching up. “He was _here_?”

“In this very classroom,” Angie confirms. “You just missed him.”

Jim can’t decide whether he’s disappointed or relieved. “Look,” he says, not wanting to discuss the situation further until he’s wrapped his own mind around it, “are we good for tomorrow?”

Angie nods.

“I should be getting home,” Jim says, gathering his things.

He leaves the classroom and heads down the hallway to the main doors. He pulls one open and almost runs straight into someone.

“Excuse me,” Jim mumbles, glancing up and straight into the eyes of… “Bones.”

They break eye contact almost immediately, but Jim can’t miss the way Bones’ eyes rove over Jim’s body.

“Jim,” he says at last, “I…um…Joanna just told me that you were teaching her class today.” He gestures toward his car in the pickup area, where Joanna sits in the passenger seat, staring out at them. “So I, uh, came back to say hi.”

_To say hi? Seriously?_

Jim takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he’s working at this school; that he’s learned the hard way about the importance of professional conduct.

He pastes a smile onto his face and wishes he could reach out and shake Bones’ hand, but he doesn’t dare let himself touch. He digs his nails into his palm instead and meets Bones’ gaze.

“Right, well, thanks for coming by, Doctor McCoy. I’m looking forward to working with your daughter again. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me or Mrs. Easton. You can get our emails through the school’s—”

“Jim, c’mon, you’re really going to treat me like I’m just some other parent? I wanted—”

“Look,” he says, cutting Bones off, “I saw _Ms. Darnell_ this morning—”

“About that—” Bones begins, but Jim doesn’t let him finish.

“—and though she’d probably have preferred to kill me on the spot, she said Joanna’s being in my class won’t be a problem. It’ll only be for the rest of this term, so yeah it’ll be a little awkward, but let’s just all focus on making it to June and then we can all move on.” Jim has absolutely no confidence that that’s possible at this moment, but he’ll do his damnedest to will it into reality.

“Jim, that’s not what I—”

Jim looks down at his watch and hikes his bag up on his shoulder. “Hey, sorry, I’m about to miss my bus. Just call the main office if you want to schedule an appointment to talk about Joanna.”

“It’s not _Joanna_ I want to talk about,” Bones insists. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

“No,” Jim says, “you won’t.”

 

 

“So you just walked away?” Carol asks over very early morning coffee.

“Oh, god,” Jim says. “It was so hard. I just…I wanted to _touch_ him.”

Carol nods and sighs. “So now what?”

“What what?”

“Well, you’re obviously going to run into him again. You’re just never going to talk about what happened?”

Jim shrugs and looks down into his coffee. “What would be the point? I really don’t need to hear anything more about how sorry he is for getting with me in the first place or how once he got out of his marriage, he decided I was just a fling.”

“Oh,” Carol says, “so that’s the story you’re telling yourself now.”

“What story? It’s the only thing that makes sense. He’s been separated for _months_. His divorce has obviously been finalized. And if I didn’t happen by some stupid coincidence to be teaching his daughter’s new third grade class, we probably never would have seen each other again.”

“There are other possible explanations, you know.”

“Like what?”

Carol rolls her eyes. “Like you’ll never know if you never give him the chance to talk to you.”

“I can’t deal with it,” Jim says. “I’m just starting to really get over him. Fuck. And it’s not like I can just stop working there.” He sighs and downs the rest of his coffee. “Well, with any luck, maybe he’ll start avoiding me from now on.”

 

 

Luck is not on Jim’s side. The next day Joanna is the last kid left in the classroom at pickup time.

“Mr. Kirk,” Angie says sweetly, “why don’t you walk Joanna outside and see if her mom or dad is here?”

“Gosh, Angie,” Jim says cheerfully, shooting her a glare over Joanna’s head, “are you sure you don’t want to do it? Get some nice fresh air?”

“Nah, I have some homework to look over,” Angie says, smiling far too wide. “Besides, I’m sure Joanna would like you to take her, wouldn’t you, Jo?”

Joanna smiles at Jim and nods.

It’s a dirty trick, using an eight-year-old against him.

“Okay, kiddo,” Jim says, holding out his hand, “let’s go.”

“Jim,” Joanna asks as they walk down the hall, “should I call you Mr. Kirk now that you’re my real teacher?”

“Yeah, probably. At least at school, anyway.” Not that Jim is planning to see Joanna any time that’s not school. That’s over and done with. “We wouldn’t want the other kids to get jealous if they found out I like you best.”

“Really? You do?” She sounds surprised but pleased.

“Definitely,” Jim says, “but you can’t tell.”

“I won’t,” Joanna promises.

Jim squeezes her hand.

When they open the door and step outside, Jim immediately spots both Jocelyn and Bones standing outside their cars by the pickup area, having a very animated discussion.

A part of Jim wishes their voices would carry far enough that he could hear what they’re talking about. Another part of him wants to move closer. Instead, he stops himself and Joanna at the top of the steps.

“Maybe we should give your folks a minute,” Jim says.

Professional – yeah, that’s him.

After a bit more back and forth, Bones and Jocelyn seem to settle. They each pull out their smart phones and exchange a bit of information, noting things down. Finally, Jocelyn looks up and toward the school, where she sees Jim and Joanna.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she calls, waving. “Ready to go?”

“Bye, Ji—Mr. Kirk,” Joanna says, before running over.

As she does, Jim accidentally catches Jocelyn’s eye. She doesn’t look too happy to be seeing him.

He guesses she’ll just have to get used to it.

Joanna reaches her parents and gives Bones a big hug. He kisses her on the forward. Jocelyn opens the passenger door to her car and takes Joanna’s backpack from her as Joanna climbs in. Jocelyn says one last thing to Bones, before walking around and getting in the driver’s seat.

Jim watches her start the car, watches the car pull out and drive off, and expects to see Bones get in his own car and go, but he doesn’t.

Their gazes meet and hold.

Jim turns around and goes back into the school.

“That was a dirty trick you pulled,” Jim informs Angie.

“Aw, come on,” she says, “you totally wanted to see him.”

“I really didn’t.”

“Seriously?” Angie asks. “You guys really need to work out your issues. What could be so bad that it stops you from being the world’s hottest couple since the young Brangelina?”

Jim frowns at her. “Have I mentioned that I don’t want to talk about it?”

Angie shrugs. “Not in so many words. Oh – so I had this dream about you two last night, and when I woke up, I _really_ needed a cigarette.”

“I thought you quit,” Jim says.

“I did. More’s the pity.

Jim shakes his head as he sits down behind the desk. “You do realize this whole conversation qualifies as sexual harassment in the workplace?”

Angie smirks as she takes the seat opposite him. “Even if you like it?”

Jim has to laugh. “You are so inappropriate.”

He pulls out some papers and they go over Jim’s lesson plans for the next few days.

 

 

By the time Jim actually leaves the school, it’s been at least forty-five minutes, so he’s really not expecting Bones still to be standing there.

Leaning against his car in a way Jim patently refuses to find sexy.

Jim steels himself and approaches. “You’re going to get a ticket, you know. This is a pickup only zone.”

Bones shrugs. “Maybe I’m picking someone up.”

“Your daughter left with your wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Bones corrects. “And the someone is you.”

“Oh,” Jim says, “and how does your _ex_ -wife feel about that?”

“She’ll get used to it.”

For a moment, Jim is tempted to read something into that comment, but he’s been fooled before. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says finally. “I’ll stick with the bus.”

He turns and starts to walk away.

Bones’ voice trails after him. “I was going to call you.”

“Oh?” Jim turns back. “You mean four months ago when you moved out of the house you were _so_ eager to get back to?” Hell, if they’re going to have this conversation here and now, he’s not going to mince words. “Guess it must have slipped your mind.”

“No,” Bones says carefully, “I mean about two weeks from now, once I felt that Joanna was settled into her new school. But then, suddenly, here you were.”

Jim really doesn’t want to think about the fact that part of that kind of makes sense. He resorts to sarcasm. “Well, sorry to disturb your careful plan.”

Unexpectedly, Bones chuckles. “It is a skill you seem to have.”

He’s clearly going for teasing, but Jim’s really not in the mood.

“Ditto,” he says, tone flat. “Look, if you just want to apologize again, forget it, alright? You were married and I was stupid. End of story.”

“I hope not,” Bones says. “I do owe you another apology, but what I really want is to explain. I _need_ to explain. Your apartment is fifteen minutes from here. Just give me that time and afterwards, if you want, you can tell me to fuck off.”

Jim wants to tell him to fuck off right now, but he can’t get the words out around the treacherous ball of hope filling his throat. “What’s the point?” he croaks.

Bones looks up and meets Jim’s eyes. “The _point_ is that I want you back.”

Jim is speechless.

Bones holds his gaze. “Please, Jim. Just fifteen minutes.”

Jim gets in the car.


	19. Chapter 19

“Look, Jim, I do want to say I’m sorry. I hurt a lot of people last year and none of them deserved it, least of all you. Everything that happened was my fault and I accept responsibility for that.”

It’s crazy how Jim finds himself already wanting to comfort Bones. But he resists the urge.

“Finding out that Joce had never been unfaithful – it was a shock. Being with you was never about trying to get back at her – I hope you know that – but thinking she was done with our marriage, well, it made me feel like I wasn’t an awful person for wanting what I wanted. For taking what I wanted. When I realized that I was the only one who’d broken our vows, I just—I always thought I was a good man, you know? I may not have been a happy man, but I was a good man. Until I wasn’t.”

Jim can’t resist anymore. “Aw, come on, I pretty much threw myself at you and told you there wouldn’t be any consequences.”

“There are always consequences,” Bones says, his voice firm. “Anyway, a good man doesn’t give up on his marriage, at least not where I come from. And especially not when there are children involved.”

Jim snorts. “So what – you just let everyone be miserable instead?”

“Not everyone,” Bones says. “I thought if I tried I could at least make Joce and Joanna happy. I thought that might be enough. I just… Thank God Joce insisted we go to counseling.”

“Why?” Jim asks. “Doesn’t seem like it really worked.”

Bones shrugs. “Well, just because a husband and wife start communicating about their relationship doesn’t mean they’re gonna say that they like it, or that they’re gonna agree on how to fix it.”

“Then what was the point?” Jim can’t help thinking how much easier this would all have been if Bones hadn’t gone back to Jocelyn.

“The point was that we learned something about ourselves and something about each other. Jocelyn figured out that she’d sunk into the very life she always wanted to escape and that it was making her miserable. And she realized how much she missed dancing. She’s found a studio she likes here in the city and they’re letting her try her hand at choreography. She’s bossy enough – I think it will be a good fit.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you wanted her to realize? Wasn’t that the woman you fell in love with?”

“Sure,” Bones says, “except that what I realized about myself is that I’m gay.”

Jim snorts. “I could have told you that.”

“I think you tried,” Bones says. “But I wasn’t ready to believe you. I mean, it’s not like sex with Jocelyn disgusted me or anything. And I had cared for her. And it seemed so much easier to think I could go either way, and then that I could choose the way that made everyone happier. But the truth is, I’m not like you. I’m not—”

“Able to appreciate sex in its many and varied forms?” Jim offers with a smirk.

Bones chuckles. “Equally attracted men and women,” he finishes. “Honestly, from the first time I kissed a boy out under the water tower when I was in high school, I knew I liked it best. That I would always like it best. I just never admitted it to myself. Or to Joce.”

“Until now,” Jim says.

“Until now,” Bones confirms.

“So you told her about us.”

“I told her about everything. I’d spent a lot of years lying to both of us. It seemed like it was high time to come clean.”

“Guess she didn’t take it too well,” Jim says, thinking about the looks he’s received in the past couple of days.

“Actually, she took it a lot better than I thought. I think it was a way for her to feel like she hadn’t failed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want _her_ —”

“It’s just that you craved hard cock,” Jim supplies.

Bones chuckles again, and Jim can’t help wondering what it means that he can tease and make Bones laugh even during a conversation like this one.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Bones says. “It’s true, though, that you’re not exactly her favorite person right now. It was still a betrayal and I think she’s pretty embarrassed by the way it went on right under her nose. Plus, it’s easier to be mad at you than at the father of her child. She’ll get over it, though. One of the things we spent a lot of time talking about with the therapist was what we wanted out of a divorce.”

“Like…?”

“Like civility, and for both of us to be significantly involved in Joanna’s life, and the ability to discuss our future relationships without jealousy or judgment in order to make sure Joanna is protected and well cared for.”

“Okay,” Jim says. If nothing else, Bones and Jocelyn have always been good parents.

“I told her I would want to try again with you, but I also promised I wouldn’t get you involved again until she and I had things sorted out.”

They’ve arrived in front of Jim’s apartment building now, but Jim doesn’t make a move to get out of the car. This is what he’s really wanted to know.

“So you didn’t call me when you separated because she didn’t want you to?”

“No, I didn’t call you when we separated because, for once in this whole damn thing, I was determined to do things right.”

“Right?” Jim repeats. “I was fucking miserable!”

“Well so was I,” Bones snaps back. “But this couldn’t be about you. It had to be about me and Joce. And about Joanna. An amicable divorce and a joint custody agreement are hard enough to pull off without the ‘other man’ hanging around reminding her about how much she should hate me.”

“You still could have called,” Jim insists. “Just to let me know what was happening. I had to find out from Gaila and Hikaru. It sucked.”

Bones sighs and rests his head against the steering wheel for a moment before looking back up. “Honestly, Jim, it was harder than hell staying away from you. Always has been. If I’d’ve heard your voice, my resolve would’ve crumbled in a heartbeat.”

Jim gets it. He really does, but he’s not quite ready to forget what Bones but him through. “You could have emailed, then,” he mutters.

Bones rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, that would have been real classy.” There’s a moment of silence between them, and then Bones begins his closing argument. “I made a lot of mistakes, Jim. I know that.”

“Like getting involved with me?” Jim asks quietly.

“Like getting involved with you when I wasn’t free and when it could have really hurt my family,” Bones amends. “Like breaking things off with you to go back to marriage that didn’t really exist anymore and trying to be someone I never was.” He sighs. “Anyway, when I finally admitted what I really wanted, I swore to myself I’d do it right – that I’d put my family first and that I’d come to you free and clear.” He looks Jim straight in the eye. “So this is me, Jim – a gay, divorced father of one who works long hours and is a bit too fond of bourbon – and I’m asking you if you want to start over.”

Jim swallows. This is the part in the movie where the love interest throws himself into the flawed hero’s arms and they share a passionate kiss, showing that all is forgiven. But in the real world, it’s a lot to digest and Jim thinks it’s finally time to look before leaping.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, and forces himself out of the car and up the front stairs.

At the door, he stops and takes one long look back.

Then he goes inside.

 

 

Jim decides not to call Carol right away. He wants to take a night to sort out his own thoughts and feelings before soliciting other opinions.

There’s a part of him that admires Bones for trying so hard to do the right thing and to be a good man.

Bones _is_ a good man.

But there’s another part of Jim that hates the way Bones was able to walk away from Jim – from _them_ – something Jim is pretty sure he’d never have been able to do.

It still stings.

But now he’s got the information he needs to figure out what he really wants.

And the space to do it in.

 

 

The next day a large and colorful arrangement of gerbera daisies is delivered to the teachers’ lounge before school.

The card is addressed to Jim, though the sender’s name is left off.

Jim, to his great embarrassment (and secret joy), is the envy of all the teachers and staff.

He can’t stop smiling all day long.

That night, he calls Carol. She rates Bones’ explanation and apology as, “Pretty damn good, all things considered.”

Jim thinks he’s inclined to agree.

 

 

The day after that, it’s a huge basket of assorted gourmet chocolates.

The teachers and staff are especially pleased by this development.

And especially curious.

Jim blushes and tries to keep any and all questioning mouths full of chocolate.

That night, he calls his mom and tells her about the gifts. She laughs about “true romantics” and warns Jim that resistance is futile.

 

 

When Jim walks into the teacher’s lounge on the third day, Friday, he’s not sure what he’s expecting.

But whatever it is, it sure as hell _isn’t_ a bright and gaudy _cookie_ bouquet.

Several of the cookies are smiling at Jim in a very unnatural way.

He approaches them cautiously and lifts out the card placed between their “stems.” He slides it out of the envelope, opens it and finds…a handwritten poem?

_Roses are red, violets are blue,  
And this is the shit you’ve reduced me to._

Jim stifles a snort of laughter.

_P.S. Please stop me. I’ve been seriously considering a singing telegram._

Oh god, Jim can practically see the expression on Bones’ face. Suddenly, all his anger and hurt is gone, washed out to sea on an irrepressible tide of laughter.

Jim’s eyes fall closed as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

When he opens them again, the teachers and staff are looking at him like he’s gone insane.

“Cookies for everyone,” Jim declares.

Who’s he been kidding? He’s crazy about this man.

 

At lunch time Jim takes his cell phone and slips off to the staff restroom. It feels like it’s been ages since he’s used it, but Bones’ number is still right there in Jim’s contacts.

 _Do you have Jo this weekend?_ Jim texts.

The reply comes almost instantly. _No._

 _Meet me at Sorellina at 8,_ Jim writes. _It’s on you._

Just because Bones is getting forgiveness doesn’t mean it’ll come cheap.

 

 

 

Jim gets to Sorellina early and waits for Bones in the bar. He’s dressed to be irresistible, in ass-hugging dark denim and a blue button down that makes his eyes even more impossible to ignore. He orders a glass of top-shelf bourbon and is sipping at it when Bones appears at his shoulder.

“Jim,” Bones says, “I’m so glad you—”

Jim turns and smiles at Bones. “Hi,” he says, “you must be Leonard.” He sticks out his hand and Bones takes it automatically. “Jim Kirk.” Jim laughs softly. “Although I guess you already knew that.” He gives Bones a slow and thorough once-over. “Anyway, it’s _so_ nice to meet you.”

“Jim, I…”

Bones’ brain is obviously still catching up. Jim doesn’t really blame him. He slides off the barstool and lays and gentle hand on Bones’ bicep. “I believe our table is ready.”

Jim picks up the rest of his bourbon and leads them over to the host, who seats them immediately. The lights are low and the atmosphere intimate. Jim takes another sip of his drink and then slides his glass across the table.

“Do you like bourbon?” he asks. “This one is fantastic. You should try it.”

Bones rotates the tumbler until the place Jim’s lips last touched is facing him. He picks up the glass and drinks. “Fantastic,” he says, and Jim is instantly hard in his pants.

But he’s determined to stick to his plan.

“So, Leonard, what do you do? Do you go by Leonard? Len, Lenny, Leo?”

“I’m a doctor,” Bones says, finally playing along. “And, actually, you can call me Bones. I mean, if you want. It’s just this crazy nickname some kid gave me once, but it kinda stuck.”

“Bones,” Jim says slowly, as if testing the name on his tongue. “I like that. It suits you. And a doctor – Mom would be so proud. So, Bones, what’s your specialty?”

“Neurosurgery.”

Jim lets out a low whistle. “Damn,” he says. “An honest to god brain surgeon.”

The waitress appears, describes the evening’s specials, and asks if they’ve had a chance to look at the wine list. Bones picks it up and discusses things with her a bit before settling on something suitably sophisticated. When she walks away, they spend a few minutes looking over the menu, exchanging observations about items that sound particularly good.

Once they’ve placed their order, “first date” conversation resumes.

“So, Jim,” Bones ask, leaning in a bit to show his interest, “what do _you_ do?”

“I’m just finishing up my masters of education. Then I plan to look for a job as a teacher.”

“Admirable. What level are you interested in?”

“K through six,” Jim says. “I think it’s important to instill a love of learning early on. Plus, kids are awesome at those ages.”

Bones nods. “My daughter Joanna is in third grade.” He grins. “She thinks her teacher walks on water.”

Jim chuckles. “A daughter, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bones says. “Her mother and I are divorced. Kind of recently. Is that weird?”

“Nah. Like I said, I love kids. How’d your daughter take the divorce?”

“Well, it’s a bit soon to tell, I guess, but she seems to be taking things in stride.”

“Does she know you’re gay?” Jim asks.

Bones shakes his head, but the question doesn’t seem to catch him off guard. “I want to be honest with her about myself, but I’m not sure ‘gay’ means a lot to her as an identity right now – you know, in the abstract. I figure if I meet someone and I know it’s going to be serious, I’ll introduce that person to her and explain that we’re more than friends. Then I’ll deal with whatever questions come up from there.”

This time Jim’s not just fake impressed. He likes that Bones has thought this through.

The wine arrives. Bones takes a taste and declares it acceptable. The waitress fills each of their glasses and slips away again. They sit across the table from each other, sipping their wine as Bones talks a bit more about Joanna – about all the things Jim has missed out on since the end of summer.

Jim eats up every word.

The food arrives and it’s amazing. Jim talks about the story of his family and the way he and his mother have begun to mend their relationship and Bones listens to him like Jim is the only other person in the world. It feels good.

Eventually, the conversation shifts and winds. Jim talks a bit about his friends: Gaila, Hikaru and Carol. Bones talks about the colleagues he’s been getting know better since he moved into the city, the places they go for drinks after work. Jim tells funny stories about his college roommate, Spock, and Spock’s badass partner Nyota.

They talk about everything and nothing and neither of them can stop smiling.

Jim waits until dessert to ask one last question.

“So,” he says, “suppose we decide to keep seeing each other, let things get serious – how do you feel about monogamy?”

“Oh, come on, Jim,” Bones says, breaking character. “Just because you and I…while I was still…you don’t actually think I’m incap—”

“Bones,” Jim interrupts, “it’s a serious, honest question. I know you haven’t been out on the gay dating scene much, but monogamy’s not really the default between guys. People negotiate and set expectations. There’s more than one way to go about a committed relationship.”

Bones blinks at him. “I…I guess I never really thought about it before.”

“Well, you should,” Jim says. “You’ve just come out of long marriage and you’ve spent a long time denying how much you wanted to screw men. It might not be a bad idea to build in a little room for experimentation.”

They fall silent for a few minutes, each focusing on his dessert. Finally, Bones looks up.

“You know, maybe you’re right. I’m mean, there’s work and Joanna and all, so it’s not like I want to be dating half a dozen different people, but I suppose I wouldn’t mind a little…”

“Extracurricular activity?” Jim suggest.

Bones nods, blushing a bit in a way Jim can’t help but find adorable.

Jim nods once. “That’s cool, me too.” Then he levels Bones with the best of his come-hither looks (and he’s got quite the menu to choose from). “Now what do you say we get out of here?”

The gesture Bones uses to get the waitress’s attention could have landed a plane. “Can we get the check, please?”

 

 

The valet brings Bones’ car around and they both get in. Jim sinks into the leather seats and sighs. It’s a major step up from the slightly funky smelling bus he took to get over here.

“So,” Bones says as they pull away from the restaurant, “this being a first date and all, should I be driving you back to your place and dropping you off with a respectable goodnight kiss?”

Jim snorts. “Are you kidding? I almost always put out on the first date. Even most of the bad ones.”

“So then how do I know _this_ wasn’t a bad date?” Bones teases.

“Good point,” Jim says. “I guess I’ll just have to put out extra.”

Bones nods. “Sounds fair.”

 

In retrospect it’s kind of amazing that they made it through a entire meal. They all but run through the lobby of Bones’ new building to get to the elevator. No sooner do the doors close behind them than they’re pressed up against each other, trying to devour each other whole and all at once.

God, Jim wants to touch Bones everywhere. And he wants Bones to touch _him_ everywhere. And somehow he wants to do it all without their ever having to stop kissing.

Jim has always loved kissing, but he’s never needed it quite like this.

They stumble out of the elevator, flushed and rumpled, and practically fall through the door of Bones’ condo in an effort to stay pressed together, strip each other naked, and actually make it to a horizontal surface all at the same time. In minutes, they’re mostly naked and balanced precariously on Bones’ couch.

Jim wants nothing more than to have Bones inside him, but Jim refuses to let go of Bones long enough for lube to be retrieved from upstairs and Bones refuses to take Jim with nothing more than spit and desire.

By unspoken agreement, they settle for frantic frottage followed by fumbling hand jobs to get them the rest of the way there. It’s over so quickly it might have been embarrassing, except for the fact that neither could have waited another second.

And that that is obviously just the warm up.

They’re still trying to catch their breath a few minutes later when Jim falls off the couch.

“Fuck!”

It’s there, from the floor, that Jim finally begins to take in his surroundings.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Bones – this place is amazing!”

The bi-level loft is all soaring beamed ceilings and exposed brick walls. Contemporary and masculine, but a little old-school all at the same time. It suits Bones. One wall of the living room is covered by built-in bookshelves and it’s comforting somehow to see that Bones’ vintage medical texts have found a new home.

“Oh, man,” Jim says, pulling himself to his feet and turning a slow circle. “We could get _so_ laid here. This place is like twink-nip.”

Jim wanders naked toward what looks to be the kitchen. He can hear Bones rolling off the couch and padding behind him in bare feet.

“Speaking of laid…” Bones says.

“Oh my god,” Jim gasps. “This kitchen is horrendous!” He blinks a couple of times to make sure it’s not an illusion. “How the fuck does _this_ kitchen get into _this_ condo?”

“I know,” Bones says, wrapping his arms around Jim’s waist from behind. “I’m having a designer in next week to talk about a remodel.” He nips at the back of Jim’s neck and starts to walk him forward toward the counter.

Jim squirms out of his grip. “Oh, hell no, not in this room. It’ll give me nightmares.”

Bones snorts. “Have you seen your own apartment lately?”

“Ha, ha,” Jim says. “Still not doing it here. How about you show me your bedroom?”

Bones smiles and leads Jim to a room _that_ definitely does not disappoint.

Round two involves the comfort of a bed contrasted with the delicious burn and stretch of Bones’ cock sliding slowly in and out of Jim’s writhing body. Jim whimpers and moans and begs, scratching long red marks into the smooth skin of Bones’ back. Bones lets out some sounds of his own and pushes harder, deeper.

With the edge off, they have the patience to really make it last.

And last.

And last.

When they finally finish, they lie together, touching as much as possible, sweaty skin against sweaty skin.

After twenty minutes or so, Jim shifts a bit to make sure his leg doesn’t fall completely asleep.

“Stay,” Bones murmurs, even though Jim has no intention of going.

“Till morning?” he asks, thinking about how much he wants to suck Bones’ dick during round three.

“Till whenever,” Bones says.

Jim snuggles closer. “I have a date tomorrow night.”

“Cancel it.”

Jim laughs softly. “So it’s like that, is it?”

“Oh, we’re going to try the open relationship thing,” Bones assures him. “Can’t let a loft like this go to waste. But for the moment,” he continues, stroking a slow hand up and down Jim’s side, “I want you all to myself.”

Jim lifts up on one elbow to press a warm, wet kiss to Bones’ lips.

The feeling is totally mutual.

 

 

 

Bones’ condo is just seven blocks from Joanna’s school.

Jim walks to work Monday morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://www.bostonpublicschools.org/school/eliot-k-8-school) is what I pictured as Jim and Joanna's school. What I pictured as Bones' new condo (with the truly awful kitchen) is no longer available to view online. [Sorellina](http://www.sorellinaboston.com/) is a real Boston restaurant, though I've never had the joy of eating there.


	20. Epilogue

Bones’ alarm goes off as usual.

At five a.m.

“Mmgrrl,” Jim says. Normally he’d have to get up, too, but it _is_ spring break and hope for sleeping in springs eternal.

Jim feels the bed shift as Bones reaches over and turns off the alarm. He hears the sound of Bones picking up his glasses from the night stand, feels another shift as Bones pushes himself up to sit on the side of the bed, then stands and wanders into the en suite bathroom.

Jim eyes crack open just a bit as he pulls up the comforter and rolls away from the bathroom light, ready to drift back off…only to find a little face peering down at him from the side of the bed.

Jeannie.

Jim scoots back toward the middle of the bed and lifts the covers so that she can slide under them and cuddle up into his side. She still loves to crawl into bed with them on weekends and holidays and Jim’s pretty sure she lies awake in her room listening intently for any sign of their stirring.

“Where’s your brother?” Jim asks, settling her more comfortably against him.

“Still asleep,” Jeannie says, like she can’t understand how it could be the case.

Jim only wishes more of the kids would learn the fine art of sleeping in.

As if on cue, plaintive cries emerge from the crib in the corner of the room.

Jim starts to shift Jeannie away from him, but Bones reappears from the bathroom. “You two stay in bed,” he says. “I’ll get him something to eat.”

Jim smiles a tired but grateful smile as Bones scoops David out of the crib and carries him downstairs, murmuring reassurances and promises of a bottle to come.

Fifteen minutes later, Bones is back, holding the bottle while David sucks away.

“Give him here,” Jim murmurs, reaching out an arm. “You’re gonna be late.”

“He’s got your eyes,” Bones whispers as he tucks the baby into the crook of Jim’s arm and helps balance the bottle.

Jim snorts. “Lots of babies have blue eyes.”

Bones shakes his head. “No, these are definitely yours. Carol still getting back today?”

“Yep.” Jim looks down at the eyes, then at the tiny fingers and tiny pink lips. “She’s been missing him like crazy.”

“I don’t blame her,” Bones says, reaching out to touch the soft baby hair on David’s soft baby head. “I’m gonna miss him, too.”

“Yeah,” Jim sighs. “Once a week just isn’t the same.”

“More sleep, though.”

“True that.”

Bones chuckles softly and heads for the shower.

Jim doesn’t hear the water shut off or Bones getting dressed. He only stirs when he feels Bones’ lips pressing lightly against his forehead.

“Have a good day,” Jim murmurs.

“You, too, darlin’. Home by six.”

 

 

Jim manages to catch almost another hour of sleep before Jeannie starts squirming and David dirties his diaper. He troupes them all downstairs around seven a.m. and decides to call it a win.

He hands Jeannie a banana and tells her she can watch half an hour of cartoons. He changes David, sets him in his bouncy chair and, finally, makes himself a pot of coffee.

“Can we have pancakes for breakfast?”

Jim turns his head to see Connor padding down the stairs. Jim’s really not sure he’s up for the challenge of batter and griddle plus baby and kiddos, but Connor clearly reads the hesitation on his face and takes preemptive measures.

“ _Please_ , Dad?”

Connor only started calling Jim “Dad” about a month ago and it still melts Jim’s heart every time.

Of course, Jim’s pretty sure Connor has noticed this and started taking advantage.

But damned if that doesn’t make Jim love the manipulative little bastard all the more. Following right in his “Dad’s” footsteps.

“If I make them are you going to help me clean up?”

“Totally!”

Jim sighs as he slides the carafe out of the coffee maker mid-brew and pours himself the first cup. “Alright, go get the flour out of the pantry.”

It’s like looking in the mirror. Connor may not have any of Jim’s genes, but he’s sure inherited Jim’s smug smirk.

“Thanks,” Jim says when the flour is delivered. “Now go watch cartoons with your sister.”

“I’m too old to watch cartoons,” Connor informs him.

Jim rolls his eyes. “No, you’re not. You’re just pretending to be. But don’t go because you want to; go because I told you to.”

Connor pulls a face, but goes into the living room. A few minutes later, as Jim starts mixing the batter, he hears Connor’s laughter join his sister’s.

 

 

Pancakes are served on the kitchen island about half an hour later, along with scrambled eggs and orange juice. Jim’s not sure how watching kids eat always turns into a full time job, but they’re mostly finished and he’s still on his first bites when Joanna appears.

“Pancakes!” she says. “Awesome.”

Jim sighs and hands her his own mostly full plate, reaching over to turn the griddle back on. “What’re you doing here so early?” he asks. “You didn’t sleep here last night, did you?”

She was scheduled to be with her mom, but things have gotten fairly flexible since she made it to high school.

“Nah,” Joanna says. “I was at Mom’s, but I had to get out of there. She’s being _such_ a bitch.”

“Joanna Elizabeth McCoy,” Jim snaps, in a way that is frighteningly involuntary.

“What?” she whines. “It’s true.”

“Okay, A, that is not something I want you calling women. B, that’s definitely not something you call your _mother_. And, C, I know you know better than to use that language around the children.”

“I’m not a child,” Connor says.

“You’re young enough that if I hear you repeating that word, you’ll be grounded,” Jim assures him. “Now, pancakes were served, so load the dishwasher, please. We’re going to the park in an hour.”

Connor makes a huffing sound, but gets to work anyway.

“Jeannie,” Jim instructs. “Go upstairs, take a shower, and get dressed. And don’t forget to brush your teeth for two whole minutes.”

Jeannie imitates her brother’s sound, but without the depth of feeling, then turns and runs upstairs.

“Don’t run on the stairs!” Jim calls after her, wondering when he became this guy.

Just then David notices that no one is paying attention to him and starts to cry. Jim lifts him out of his bouncy chair and balances him on one hip, rocking him gently as he turns back to Joanna.

She’s staring down at her half-finished plate of pancakes, looking suitably shamed.

“Jo?”

She looks up. “I’m sorry, Uncle Jim. It’s just that sometimes she totally drives me crazy, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jim says, “it’s hard to be teenager.”

Joanna rolls her eyes.

Jim rolls his back. “Look,” he says, “come to the park with us and we’ll talk through it, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good. Now finish your pancakes. And then go upstairs and make sure Jeannie doesn’t put on anything crazy, will you?” Jeannie’s sense of independence far outstrips her fashion sense at this point.

Joanna nods.

When Connor is finished loading the dishwasher, Jim sends him upstairs to get ready, too. Once Jim and David finally have the kitchen to themselves, Jim sticks David back in the bouncy chair and fixes his own breakfast. He eats it fast enough to make sure no one comes back and steals it. He decides to forgo his own shower, but it still takes another hour and a half to get everyone out of the house and to the park, which is only six blocks away.

 _Spring_ break _, my ass,_ Jim thinks.

 

 

“Don’t hit your brother!” Jim yells.

“But he stuck his tongue out at me!” Jeannie calls back.

“Violence isn’t the answer!” Jim says. “Give peace a chance!”

Jeannie rolls her eyes (just like Joanna) and runs off towards the swings.

Jim sighs. “You’re such a bad influence,” he tells Joanna, who’s sitting on the bench next to him playing with David in her lap. “So, anyway, spill – what’s up with you and your mom?”

“She told me I can’t dye my hair pink or get a nose ring.”

“Okay,” Jim says slowly. “And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. Because she wants me to be some kind of preppy pod zombie with no friends?”

“Uh huh. Is that what she said?” It’s hard to picture the words _preppy pod zombie_ coming out of Jocelyn’s mouth.

“She said I look pretty just the way I am,” Joanna says, pulling a face.

David giggles.

“Well, she’s got a point there,” Jim says. “Why the sudden need for a change?”

“I don’t know.” Joanna shrugs. “Just ’cause.”

“You’re not going to be able to make a very good case without a few more specifics,” Jim points out.

He waits and lets Joanna decide if she’s going to share what’s really on her mind.

“It’s just – there’re these kids at school and they’re forming a band,” she says finally. “And they’re looking for a singer, but I think they’ll take one look at this,” she rolls her head to indicate her own upper body, “and be like, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’”

“Hmm, I don’t know, Jo, I’ve been to your choir concerts. I’m pretty sure once you sing for them, they’re gonna think you’re awesome. You know, sometimes I think I first fell in love with your dad when I heard him sing ‘Just Like Heaven.’”

“Ew, gross,” Joanna says. “Anyway, choir is lame. Isn’t it, Davy-wavy?” She makes kissy faces at him.

David gurgles his agreement.

“Okay,” Jim says, “is that what you told your mom?”

“Yeah. And then _she_ said that being in a garage band wasn’t going to help me get into college.”

“Right, so one possibility is that your mom suddenly decided she hates you and has made it her personal mission to ruin your life,” Jim says. “But the other possibility is that your mom still loves you and wants the best for you. So, just assuming it’s the love one, what do you think she’s worried about here?”

Joanna sighs. “I guess she thinks that if I do this, I won’t pay as much attention to my schoolwork and my other activities and then I won’t be able to go to the college I want.”

Jim nods. “Sounds about right.”

“So, what? You don’t think I should be in a band either? _Jim_ …”

“I didn’t say that. I’m just thinking maybe we could think about what you could do to convince your mom that it’ll be alright for you to do this.”

Joanna sighs again and considers this for a minute while David gums at her fingers.

“I guess I could make a deal with her that I have to keep up my GPA,” she says finally, “and that if I don’t then I don’t get to be in the band anymore.”

Jim nods again. “Yeah, your dad will like that, too. What else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I think we can do better,” Jim says. “This singing – is it something you think you might be serious about?”

“Yeah,” Joanna says, looking at David, not Jim. “It really is.”

“So maybe you could ask your mom and dad about taking some voice lessons. That way they’ll know it’s not just something you’re doing to be popular, but a way that you really want to develop yourself. Your mom works really hard at her dancing. I think she’d respect you wanting to work hard, too.”

Joanna’s eyes are wide as she turns to look at Jim and starts to smile. “Wow, I never thought of that.”

Jim smiles back. “That’s okay,” he says. “You can tell them it was all your idea.”

 

 

When everyone starts to get hungry, they head home for lunch. Jim heats up a bottle for David and then starts boiling hot dogs. Joanna declares that hot dogs are gross, but she eats two anyway when they’re done. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim knows that Hikaru would be appalled, but Jim thinks that wrangling a baby, two kids and a teenager is plenty of challenge for one day.

One “vacation” day, at that.

Whoever named it Spring _Break_ obviously wasn’t a fulltime parent.

Around four o’clock, Carol appears, looking a bit jet lagged, but also thrilled to see her son.

“Thanks for taking him,” she says.

Jim smiles. “No problem, anytime.”

“I don’t know,” Carol says, shaking her head, “I think I’m gonna need to cut back on my travel.”

“We really don’t mind,” Jim assures her. “He was a little angel.”

“Oh, I’m sure _he_ was great. _I’m_ the one who turns into a basket case when we’re apart.”

“Parenthood,” Jim agrees. “I tried to warn you…”

Carol shrugs. “I guess you just don’t know until you _know_ , you know?”

“Yeah,” Jim says, “I know.”

 

 

Jeannie and Connor are in the living room fighting over video games. Jim and Joanna are in the kitchen. Joanna’s on her phone texting away at light speed and Jim is on his laptop checking email and doing some online banking.

“You staying for dinner, Jo-bean?”

“Please don’t call me that,” Joanna says without pausing in her texting.

“Sorry, force of habit. So?”

“What’re we having?”

Jim shrugs. “Don’t ask me. That’s your father’s domain.”

“But he’s been at work all day.”

Jim snorts. “And you think I’ve been what? On vacation?”

“Well…”

Jim looks up from his computer. “Joanna,” he says, “if you end up deciding you’re into men and if you ever decide to settle down with one and have kids – preferably not until you’re at least thirty – and if you happen to decide you’re the one who wants to stay home with those kids part of the time, don’t you ever let that man convince you that taking care of them all day is anything less than a full time job. Got it? He can damn well do his share of the cooking.”

“Hey, guys,” Bones calls as if on cue, pushing his way in through the back door while balancing a number of items. “Who’s hungry? I brought pizza.”

“Or bring home pizza,” Jim amends.

He stands up, takes the pizza boxes from Bones and sets them on the counter. “My hero,” he says turning back to give Bones a sound kiss on the lips.

“Ewwww,” comes the three-kid chorus.

“Shut up and eat,” Jim says, and goes right on with his kissing.

 

 

Jim enlists the help of Jeannie and Connor in picking up a bit around the house while Bones cleans up in the kitchen and chats with Joanna. Eventually, Jo comes into the living room to give Jim a hug and a quick thanks before Bones drives her the mile or so back to her Mom’s. When Bones gets back, he lets Jim chill on the couch while he corrals the kids for bedtime. With no infant to get down, things go relatively smoothly.

“What do you say we put ourselves to bed?” Bones suggests when he returns to the living room.

Jim, who has already been dozing off, agrees.

They undress and brush their teeth without saying much, craw into either side of their bed, share a brief kiss and then fall quickly into sleep.

About four hours later, Jim wakes to the feel of Bones hand stroking up and down his back. Jim rolls over and opens his eyes, smiling. Bones smiles back and leans in. This time they share a long, leisurely kiss.

A kiss with intent.

Slow and easy, but definitely not aimless.

A year or so ago, when they first got Jeannie and Connor, their lives go so busy and exhausting so fast that their sex life had started to suffer. Then Jim remembered an article he’d read once about how back before industrialization most people slept in two distinct chunks. They’d go to sleep a couple hours after dusk, then wake up three to four hours later. They’d be awake for an hour or two before taking the second chunk, and in that awake time some people even got out of bed to have a smoke or to visit with neighbors. Most people, though, stayed in bed, read, wrote and apparently prayed.

Of course, Jim wasn’t looking for extra prayer time.

What really intrigued him was the fact that some people had used the time to have sex. It was even considered a preferred time since people were better rested than after a long day and able to take their time and enjoy themselves more.

 _That_ , Jim had figured, was an idea worth spreading.

They’ve been on this schedule for months and months now and Jim can definitely attest to enjoying himself more.

He sighs into the kiss and trails his hand down Bones’ spine, fingers skating into the small of Bones’ back. Bones turns onto his stomach and spreads his legs and Jim accepts the silent invitation, sliding his fingers lower and encountering…

Lube?

“Oh, god, did you…?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“That is _so_ hot,” Jim whispers. “How long have you been awake?”

“’Bout twenty minutes,” Bones says, favoring Jim with a satisfied smirk.

Jim pictures Bones slipping out of bed and into the bathroom, grabbing some lube from the medicine cabinet and leaning over the counter, legs spread. He pictures the somewhat awkward angle as Bones reaches behind himself, the look of concentration and growing, helpless pleasure as Bones works one finger, then two into himself. He can practically hear the hoarse groan as Bones struggles to get the third finger in, to make himself all nice and ready for Jim’s cock.

It’s amazing that, after more than seven years together, Bones can still surprise him.

Amazing and _awesome_.

“So hot,” Jim repeats, this time on a soft moan. “You really are my hero,” he breathes.

That said, he wastes no time pushing himself up into a kneeling position and crawling around behind Bones. He tugs at Bones’ hips until his ass is sticking up, just at the right level for Jim to push inside.

They pause for a moment to appreciate that first sensation, then start to move together, chasing others.

They’re quieter these days with the kids sleeping down the hall, but they know each other’s bodies well enough that they don’t need words or sounds to communicate their pleasure. It’s a kind of sex – a kind of _connection_ – that Jim had never imagined experiencing before Bones.

Familiar, intimate. And so, so good.

Like sliding on your favorite pair of jeans, only with a much greater likelihood of orgasm.

 

 

Afterwards, they lie awake together and catch each other up on the day.

“I feel like I need to go back to work just to get a vacation from this vacation,” Jim says.

Bones chuckles. “They’re a handful even on their best days,” he agrees. He’s silent for a moment, and then: “Do you ever miss the loft?”

Jim knows that “the loft” is shorthand for their former lifestyle – those first five years of fun and freedom when homemaking was the last thing on their minds (at least when Jo was staying with her mom). Full-time kids are a definite change.

“Sometimes,” Jim admits, “but I wouldn’t trade back for anything.”

“Me neither,” Bones agrees. “Besides, they’ll all grow up and move out eventually.”

Jim makes a face. “Yeah, but by then we’ll be old and paunchy and our hairlines will be receding, and we’ll be the only people who even _want_ to have sex with us.”

“We’ll use all our newfound free time to go to the gym,” Bones assures him. “And besides, we’ll have a major increase in disposable income. Money can compensate for a lot.”

“Man,” Jim says, “Future Us sounds really skeevy.”

“Nah,” Bones says, running his thumb over Jim’s bottom limp, “just playing to our strengths.”

Jim smiles and nips at the finger, then snuggles deeper into the pillow as he feels his sleepiness return. “Gotta admit, it’s worked out well so far,” he murmurs. “Night, Bones.”

Bones leans over for a light kiss, then settles back into his own spot. “Good night, Jim.”

 

_FIN._


End file.
